


The Stars of Akron

by AnonymousObsesser



Category: Glee
Genre: And if she made a point to be bffs with Puck, And knew her mother was a star, Basically if Rachel was even more determined, I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT JUDAISM OR HAVING A BABY SO I'M SORRY, Open adoption kinda, Shelby and Hiram and Leroy are best buddies, Shelby meets the Berrys by accident rather than through an ad, Things are still weird, Yet another fix it fic, also yes I am aware that wicked didn't start until like 2003 just go with it ok, i write way too many of these things, just read it, let me know what you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousObsesser/pseuds/AnonymousObsesser
Summary: Things could be different.It all goes back to Shelby.[ON HIATUS UNTIL I CAN GET MY LIFE BACK ON TRACK AFTER FUCKING UP SPECTACULARLY--MORE INFO IN CHAPTER FIVE NOTES]





	1. Chapter 1

Hiram and LeRoy Berry were never happier than the day that their daughter was born, but the day they found a surrogate for their child was a very, _very_ close second. (Well, okay, _third_ , but only because the day they became partners for life was pretty amazing.)

They’d been screening potential surrogates for _months_ looking for a candidate, and they’d found _nothing_.

Sometimes a surrogate was pretty but dim-witted (their child was _not_ going to be dumb, no way), other times she was really smart—genius-level smart—but not too pretty. Some were boring, some too chipper; some had genetic defects. One of the biggest deal-breakers, though, was that hardly any of the surrogates were Jewish.

And then they found Shelby Corcoran.

It was like fate or serendipity or destiny or something.

Shelby was perfect—Jewish by lineage (though not by faith, because she didn’t really practice religion), smart, funny but serious about the important things, gorgeous, healthy in the genetic sense, and she liked Broadway. In fact, she was an actress on her way to New York.

It was how they met; it wasn’t through some kind of donation pool or anything, just a chance meeting outside of a theatre house in Akron. The Berrys had been walking down the street side-by-side, enjoying the nice October weather. Shelby had been rehearsing her lines for her part as Elphaba in a local production of _Wicked_ , pacing in front of the building. Rehearsals were taking place inside, but it was mainly for extras, and she wasn’t set to rehearse with the cast until the evening.

She’d let all of this information spill out within seconds of them meeting her, because she wasn’t looking where she was pacing and had for some reason been attempting to do an odd sort of twirl in the middle of the sidewalk and had basically thrown herself at them full-speed. She’d apologized, and explained what she was doing, and then apologized again.

LeRoy had laughed lightly. “It’s alright, Miss Elphaba. We of all people know how wrapped up one can get when rehearsing.”

She’d looked surprised. “You know _Wicked_?” she’d asked incredulously. Then she shifted, realizing something else. “And what do you mean, you know? Are you two actors or something?”

The two men had exchanged a look. “Something like that,” LeRoy had answered. “We performed a little in high school, less in college. We’re big Broadway fans.”

“Well, we’re _Friends_ fans, too,” Hiram had blurted. “But mostly Broadway.”

The girl had laughed. “You’re funny.” She’d smiled. “I’m Shelby. Shelby Corcoran. This is kind of my first big role, so I’m a little nervous.” She waved the papers around. “Hence the practicing.”

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” LeRoy had assured.

“Do you guys have tickets?” Shelby asked. “We’re almost sold out already, so…”

“We have tickets.” Hiram glanced at his watch. “Oh, but we should get going. It was lovely meeting you, Shelby.”

“You, too.”

* * *

Over the course of the show’s run at the local theatre, Hiram and LeRoy had become somewhat close to Shelby. They talked to her about lots of different things, least of which her performances.

“Are you feeling okay?” Hiram asked one day. “You seemed a bit pitchy in Act Two yesterday.”

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “I think I’m just worn down. I’ve never had a large role in a show four days in a row.”

LeRoy nodded thoughtfully. “Well, try and get some rest tonight. It wouldn’t do to have the star collapsing on the stage, hmm?”

Shelby snorted. “Oh, definitely not.”

She found out a lot about them—like how they met when performing in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ at LeRoy’s local theatre the summer after they graduated from their (separate) high schools, a story that she thought was _just_ the most adorably sweet thing _ever_ —and she wasn’t scared to tell them things about her, either.

They found out she was technically Jewish, since her mother was, but she and her family didn’t get along very well and she didn’t practice religion at all, let alone specifically Judaism. She was respectful of their beliefs, though, and that’s really all you can ever ask of anyone.

Shelby was eighteen—almost nineteen—and she was hoping to get picked up by a director in New York so she could get her foot in the door of Broadway. It hadn’t happened yet, but she was convinced it would eventually.

A week before the last show, she got her wish. A big-time director by the name of Ryan Murphy was trying to get a show approved for the stage—it’d be off-Broadway at first, but after the first run he was sure he could get the show _on_ Broadway—and was convinced she’d be perfect for the lead role. There was only one problem, really.

The show wouldn’t start for at least a year and a half, and even then it would be another few months before she could get paid. That meant she’d have to live on fumes in New York for months before she had a paying job, which she wasn’t so keen on doing. She accepted the job, because what else could she do when her dreams were being served to her on a platter, but she wasn’t too optimistic about her chances in the big city when the time came.

Murphy had logged her number into this little book he had with potential actors, and promised that when he got the show picked up—it would definitely get picked up, he had a lot of friends in high places, let alone his own influences—he’d give her a call.

There was still an issue of money.

LeRoy and Hiram had an idea for that.

“Have a baby?” she’d asked slowly. Her brow was furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “ _Your_ baby?”

“Yes,” LeRoy had insisted. “It’s not so out there.”

“Plenty of actresses sell their eggs for money to start them off,” his partner had interjected.

“But you want _me_ to have this baby,” she said. “Isn’t that different?”

They’d shrugged.

“You’re perfectly healthy,” Hiram had said. “There isn’t any reason you would be permanently affected by having the baby, and you would have already given birth months before you get a call from Murphy. It isn’t like you’d need to take care of the baby once they’re born, and you’ll have money enough to go live in New York comfortably.”

She’d asked for time to think it over.

Three weeks later, they’d almost given up hope, but then she’d appeared on their doorstep with a folder and a notebook and more lists than the two of them could count. The two men were organized, yes, but Shelby was on a whole other level.

First, there was a list of her own demands, like deciding duties—which included things all the way from the mundane to the totally extreme, e.g. from who would be scheduling doctor’s visits to who was going to be the one to get up in the middle of the night when she was craving hot-sauce-flavored ice cream (Shelby for the former, LeRoy for the latter)—and her fees.

She kept apologizing, because she thought she was asking too much—she wasn’t, and they were already planning to pay her more because they were pretty sure she didn’t really realize how much apartments in New York cost—but she was very thorough in her analyses.

Then there was a list of any genetic markers in herself that she thought may be a problem. They were all pretty tame and by the end of that list they were all fairly certain that the baby wouldn’t have anything wrong with it. Shelby also said that she was really likely to have a girl, because every first child in her family had been a girl for the last umpteen generations, so the Jewish trait that the two men treasured so much would get passed on.

There were other lists with weird things on them, like she’d been trying to cover all of her bases and got a little carried away, and then there was something else, written on a separate sheet of paper and tucked behind everything else.

She’d hesitated before bringing it up, but once she brought it up it was all any of them could think about.

“I was wondering if you wanted an open adoption.”

Both men had hesitated before LeRoy responded. “Before, we wanted a closed one. But since we know you…”

“What do you want to do?” Hiram asked.

“It’s not really up to me, is it?’ She’d sighed. “Would I like the opportunity to maybe someday get to know my daughter? I’m not saying I _wouldn’t_ , but I’m going to be realistic and just say that I’ll probably never come back.”

“But you would want her to know who you are, wouldn’t you?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” she insisted. “She’s going to be your responsibility, you’ll be raising her. If you don’t want her to know me, I’ll respect the decision, but…”

“Then we’ll have an open adoption.” LeRoy shrugged as if it were nothing. “If you want to get to know her someday—or vice versa—you can. You’ll have the option.”

Neither had seen her smile as wide as she did at that.

* * *

Two weeks later, Shelby had moved from her mom’s house in Akron (where she wasn’t welcome even on the best of days) and into the guest bedroom of LeRoy and Hiram’s house in Lima. She only owned three bags of things, so they insisted on taking her shopping for the essentials, like maternity clothes and new shoes and a new TV/stereo system for her room. And then the three of them were at the doctor’s, getting her pregnant.

They hadn’t been able to decide on the father, so they just mixed their sperm together and gave it to the doctor. The baby’s birth certificate listed LeRoy and Hiram as her parents, so it wasn’t like it mattered which one of them was her biological father.

* * *

The next nine months were some of the most exhausting and grueling the three of them had been through. Turned out that Shelby wasn’t kidding about the hot-sauce-flavored ice cream thing—it was a family trait, apparently—and that was just the tip of the iceberg with the pregnancy.

Needless to say, there were many fights between parents and surrogate, and things didn’t go as smoothly as they sometimes hoped.

When the due date finally came around and the baby still hadn’t come, Shelby insisted on being induced rather than just having a C-section because she didn’t like the possibility of having such a huge scar for the rest of her life. Which the Berrys, of course, completely understood.

So Shelby had a little baby girl, and they were all sitting in the hospital room taking turns holding her, and LeRoy had to wrap and ice his hand because Shelby had accidentally fractured it after a particularly powerful contraction, and suddenly there was paperwork to fill out and—

“Oh, my god,” Shelby groaned loudly, burying her head into her pillow. “We never decided on a name.”

It was pretty much an unspoken agreement—had been since they agreed to this—that the baby would be named after a star of some sort. They’d just never actually _agreed_ to a name.

After filling out the other mandatory paperwork—and squabbling for about five hours—the three of them agreed on Rachel as her first name, after the girl on _Friends_. (LeRoy and Hiram had made her watch the whole series, and she actually kind of liked it, so she didn’t have a _huge_ problem with the name.) They took a few minutes to think about the middle name, and then Shelby suggested Barbra for Barbra Streisand, since she was her idol. And since they liked the actress almost as much as she did, they agreed readily.

Less than a week later, Rachel Barbra Berry was brought home from the hospital. Her nursery was pink with gold accents and little stars all over the ceiling and walls. She seemed to like it—she didn’t cry a whole lot. (When she did, though, whew—look out for those lungs.)

It was pretty peaceful for the next few months.

Seventeen days after Rachel turned six months old, Shelby got a call on her cell phone. They were fairly surprised. The only people who had her cell number were them, the members of her immediate family (who still weren’t speaking to her), and—

“Mr. Murphy,” she stammered.

LeRoy and Hiram had shared a bittersweet smile. This was it.

A week later, Shelby was moving to New York. She shoved her whole life into ten boxes to be shipped after she found a place to live, made sure they’d transferred her the money they agreed on (and berated them for practically tripling it), kissed her baby for what was sure to be the last time for a long time, and boarded a plane for New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

Technically speaking, LeRoy and Hiram Berry were two of the wealthiest people in Ohio.

They were both trust-fund babies, born into wealthy families, but their families had decided they wanted better for their kids, so they raised them with the bare minimum. They weren’t raised with a silver spoon, so they knew how important money was to some and how little it meant to others, and they also understood that money didn’t come cheap.

Both of their families moved to Ohio—LeRoy’s family lived in the McKinley district, Hiram’s the district directly to the east—and raised them quietly and simply. When they graduated high school, they both came into an inheritance, and both planned to use it to start their careers.

That summer, though, they met in that silly production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , and they fell in love. Their families had been pretty supportive of their sexuality, so it wasn’t made into that big of a deal. But then they both started realizing that they weren’t really cut out for performing full-time, so they decided to go back to school. They both got business degrees, which basically meant they could do a whole lot of nothing, and then they caught baby fever and suddenly wanted kids, and we know how that ended up.

Anyway, the point is that after Rachel was born they were kind of stuck in a weird hole of doing nothing. And it got boring really fast. So they started trading off on babysitting so that they could each work a little bit sometimes. But eventually even that wasn’t very stimulating, so it wasn’t even two months after Rachel’s third birthday that both decided they kind of wanted to go back to school.

Hiram ended up taking online courses in law. He was really smart, so within four years he was taking his big exam and then suddenly he was a lawyer and then two years after that he kind of just…became a judge? And then he was nominated for this huge job, except it was in Philadelphia, so he kept having to fly out all the time. He’d come back whenever he could, but it was kind of like he’d just disappeared sometimes.

LeRoy went to culinary school in Akron, and he always came home after school and cooked dinner. After he graduated, he started his own restaurant in Lima. It got shut down after about six months, but he really liked running it. So when he heard from one of his friends from High School that there was this huge building right across the street from his house that was a prime location for a restaurant, he booked it to San Diego and started planning. He was there for about a year, and when he came back he had to take about a dozen calls a day just so he could do damage control and such.

Needless to say, Rachel had a nanny from the age of seven to the day she turned twelve, at which point her dads figured she could take care of herself—the nanny had taught her how to do laundry and answer the phone and make soup in the microwave and all the other important things—so they left her by herself.

She didn’t mind.

See, Rachel wasn’t like other kids her age. She didn’t have a lot of friends, she wasn’t interested in cartoons, and by the time she was ten she couldn’t stand the idea of eating meat.

Her dads made sure she went to temple when they couldn’t take her themselves, and the synagogue was the only place she had any friends. The Jewish community in Lima was small—most of the people that came to the synagogue were from the town directly to the north of them, which didn’t have a temple at all despite being significantly larger than Lima—so they were like a big happy family. She felt like she belonged there, which was always a nice feeling.

Rachel had other feelings, too, though, like how she might belong with these _people_ but she definitely didn’t belong in this _town_. She told everyone about her dreams, thinking they’d be proud that she was so talented, but they just kind of gave her these looks that told her they thought she was cute but didn’t really believe in her. Which was fine. Totally fine.

Anyway, there were two kids she saw at temple all the time who she also happened to go to school with.

The first boy she met at temple was Jacob. They were both nine when they met, and she tried to be friendly but he was kind of like those weird guys she saw on TV following celebrities around, and he kind of creeped her out. So she stopped being _too_ nice, just sticking to polite, but he still kept creeping on her. She couldn’t do much about it—her dads raised her to be courteous, not rude—but then she met Noah.

Noah was almost six months older than her and by far the cutest boy at temple. Though he was in the same grade as her, the two of them only formally met when she was almost eleven. Jacob had been being even weirder, trying to give her random birthday presents that were kind of gross—stuff like socks made of his hair and creepy little drawings of the two of them holding hands—so she was avoiding him at all costs. Eventually he cornered her, talking about how soft he thought her hair looked and asking if he could touch it.

Don’t get her wrong, okay, Rachel loved getting attention. She was a romantic at heart, having watched all those musicals, so she dreamed of the day she and a boy would fall in love and get married and have kids. (After her Broadway career got going, though, obviously.) But Jacob wasn’t being romantic, he was being creepy, and that was _not_ cool with her.

She’d been leaning so far away from him that she’d almost fallen over, and then an arm was wrapping around her waist, and this new boy was kind of guarding her with his own body just like she saw in the movies, and he was pushing Jacob away from her with a hand in his face.

“Back away, Jewfro,” Noah had said real calmly.

Jacob had scurried away and pretty much left her alone after that, but he was always kind of _there_ , lingering in the background like a creep and sometimes whispering weird things to her when Noah wasn’t around.

She started hanging out with Noah a lot.

He didn’t talk to her when they were around, like, non-Jews—like at school, or when they were at the town pool—but when they were at temple, or at one of the cookouts her dads had when they were home during the summer, she and Noah stuck together like glue. He was her knight in shining armor, and she would always be thankful to him. He was sort of like her best friend.

Sometime after they both turned twelve, Noah had started going to temple a lot less. His mom was working extra shifts a lot because his dad left, so she couldn’t force him to go. Plus he had to baby-sit his little sister, Sarah, since she was only four.

Noah changed when his dad left. He was still the same when Rachel talked to him at temple—still sweet and charming—but he started being mean to her when they were at school and stuff. Kids at school had always been mean to her. No one had ever stood up for her, not even the few friends she had. When Noah started bullying her, too, she waited until they were under the safety of the synagogue before going to confront him.

He’d beaten her to the punch, immediately finding her and giving her an awkward hug as he apologized. He explained the situation to her, and really, she couldn’t blame him. The first few weeks after his dad ditched, she’d seen him struggling, seen him act out. Apparently that got him friends on the basketball and football teams, and since they were the biggest bullies in school, he kind of felt obliged to join in.

Rachel didn’t blame him, no, but she was a little disappointed. She wanted better for him than jerk friends who made him bully others.

Still, she let him continue, and she didn’t get mad at him when he would hound her in the halls. Even if she did, she couldn’t stay mad for very long.

After they turned thirteen, they started getting roped into babysitting at the synagogue, since they were kids but not _kids_ kids and could therefore keep the others in line without being too sinister or unruly themselves. Noah was usually really good with kids. He was very protective. When they were babysitting, they talked about stuff that happened during the week and the movies playing at the theatre, and sometimes he let her talk about her big Broadway dreams and not interrupt except to ask questions about certain actresses.

One day, he’d kind of just sat silently for a while before randomly looking aver at Rachel and saying, “Hey, Berry.”

He didn’t call her Rachel very often, which was okay. She was pretty sure it was because she refused to call him by his nickname, Puck, a name he’d only picked up after his dad was out of the picture.

She’d smiled over at him. “Yes, Noah?”

He’d stopped for a minute, looking around them. He seemed nervous, and she frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “I just…I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Go ahead. You can ask me anything.”

He’d smiled over at her, almost shy. “I was thinking, you know, since my dad left a couple years ago…I don’t have anybody teaching me stuff. Like, guy stuff.”

Rachel had been confused. “Okay?”

“Look, I was just gonna ask if I could…maybe…borrow one of your dads sometimes?” He’d shifted uncomfortably, sighing. “You know, since you’ve got two and my one left me.”

She’d agreed readily—honestly, she wondered why he even felt the need to _ask_ , because it wasn’t like her dads hadn’t been looking out for him for as long as they’d been friends—and said, “But you have to share your mom with me, because my mom’s not around. Deal?”

“Deal, Berry,” he’d said, and he’d given her this little smile that was sweet and charming but also kind of mean and she’d kind of internally squealed at how cute it was. Because her best friend was cute, totally. Just in a friends sense, though, of course.

A couple of years later, the two of them started high school. It got rough.

Suddenly, Noah went from simply ignoring her and gently hounding her sometimes to tormenting her when they were anywhere but at temple. He got onto the school football team, and she wasn’t popular, which meant she was a loser. So he had to throw slushies at her just like all the other jocks.

* * *

Something that you should know about Rachel Barbra Berry was that she was very focused. She brought new meaning to the term _one-track mind_.

LeRoy and Hiram had been very serious when they agreed to raise her with a musical background. They took her to every show that played at the local theatre, showed her tapes of Broadway shows, and gave her lessons in every genre they could think of.

What they could never have anticipated, however—though they really should have, what with their own love of Broadway and Opera as well as her biological mother’s background and passion—was how she’d take to it like a fish to water.

Rachel loved performing, more than they ever had, and she was convinced she was made for stardom. And with her singing voice and dancing skills, she had her dads pretty convinced, too.

When she was three, she started dancing lessons. First ballet, then tap dancing at four years old, then ballroom dancing at six years old. She started singing almost as soon as she started talking, and she was probably a contender with her mother for the spot as Barbra’s number one fan. She first sang _Don’t Rain on My Parade_ at the tender age of four, and things went from there. By the time she was a teenager—a real one, not a pre-teen—she had close to a hundred thousand songs memorized.

Yeah. _Memorized_. If anyone named a song, chances were she could hum the melody for a few seconds as a sort of memory-jogger and then sing the whole song word-for-word _a Capella_. It was kind of scary. (They had her tested, and sure enough, she had just about the closest thing to an eidetic memory as the doctor had ever seen without actually _having_ one.)

In addition to singing, she also insisted on being taught instruments, a demand that only got worse after she turned eight and her dads told her that her mom was famous. Noah taught her a few of the basics for playing the guitar, and she was pretty good, actually, so she demanded to have lessons to play the guitar, piano, drums, and violin. It was clear by middle school that she had a talent for _anything_ related to theatre, regular and musical alike, but she was especially good at the musical aspects.

She took inspiration from the perfection of Barbra Streisand as well as the knowledge that her biological mother was a star in her own right. She did all she could to be perfect—worked hard to get straight A’s and be included in any and all school groups she could get into. Then she had her daily workout schedule, which included everything from endurance to flexibility exercises. She was about as flexible as a rubber band by the end of seventh grade, and she could run eight miles in less than an hour while simultaneously singing the soundtrack to Steven Sondheim’s _Into the Woods_.

Perfection was important—if she wanted to be famous, she had to be flawless in every way. Fame and stardom wasn’t just _handed_ to you. You had to work for it.

So Rachel took classes on four different dance styles—ballet, tap dancing, ballroom, and hip-hop (because it was important to stay hip)—and four instruments; she had three scheduled lessons every day for singing (one for musical theatre singing, one for singing newer songs, and another for voice training, because she was determined to be able to rap and sing classic rock music, which wasn’t what her natural voice was suited to); and she volunteered for every play at the local theatre, for practicing her acting skills.

She donated most of her allowance to a different charity every month, and she tried to be as nice as possible to everyone, even if they weren’t very nice in return.

Noah called her _Crazy_ in this fond voice, because even though she was psychotic in her determination, it was cute-slash-hot and therefore worked for her.

The summer before her eighth grade year, her dads finally got around to telling her who her mom really was. It wasn’t like they’d been hiding it. They’d told her the important things, like how her mom was a big star on Broadway and had tons of awards, how she was beautiful and smart, how she was a huge fan of Barbra just like her, and how she was so proud of her.

But that summer, they finally sat her down and explained everything to her. They told Rachel that her mother’s name was Shelby Corcoran, and they told her the whole story of how they met her and how she lived with them and had her and how they gave her enough money to go to New York for two years so she could follow her dream. They explained that they had actually been searching for a surrogate for so long that they’d almost given up hope and were almost to the point of taking an ad out in the paper when they came across this pretty, smart, funny, honest, Jewish girl on the sidewalk as she was ranting her dialogue of Elphaba. They explained that the adoption was an open one, so Shelby could talk to her if she wanted and vice versa.

She’d asked why Shelby hadn’t ever talked to her. They’d told her it was just because she was so busy, so focused on being famous and living out her dream.

Rachel understood.

It just made her even more determined to make it to Broadway. If she hadn’t had that passion, that drive, that will to succeed and be famous, she would have been run ragged by her intense schedule. It only got more jam-packed once she got to high school.

Every weekday morning, she woke up at exactly four-thirty. She would spend forty-five minutes on the elliptical, then half an hour doing yoga, then lift weights (twenty pounds, hardly anything) for another half hour before going on her hour-long run. By then, it was seven-thirty, so she would shower for fifteen minutes, get dressed for school, and eat a vegan breakfast wrap on her walk to school.

At school, she puttered her way through her regular classes like they were nothing—and they really were a bit too easy for her—before moving on to her musical electives. She was in band, where she was learning to play the flute as well as perfecting her violin and piano playing. (Luckily, this meant she could drop the lessons she’d been taking outside of school, though she kept up with her guitar and drum classes.)

In addition, she took place in that cheering extracurricular activity—she’d never really bothered learning the name, but it was the one with the batons and the fake rifles—which allowed her to cut her morning run down to a half an hour and change her playlist for it from Sondheim to Patti LuPone. If William McKinley High School offered chorus as an elective, she would have been able to cut down on one of her singing lessons, but they didn’t, so she couldn’t.

So she spent every weekday from eight to three at school. Then she had her clubs and such, at least one if not two every day, which kept her an extra two hours. She rolled out of school at five most days and went home to eat a quick dinner and do her homework.

At six, she was out again, headed to ballet. (After she cut her running time, she added a half-hour session in the morning for ballet, but she still had an hour-long session every evening.) At seven, she crossed the hall for a thirty-minute tap dancing lesson before going downstairs for another thirty minutes of hip-hop. (She’d cut ballroom dancing out of her schedule after a couple of years, since there was really only so many ballroom dances you could know.) When eight came around, she was taking off down the sidewalk to her musical voice coach two blocks away. Rachel spent half an hour with her, then forty-five minutes practicing different music styles with her other voice coach in the next building over. At nine-thirty, she went home and took another fifteen-minute shower before getting dressed, laying out the things she’d need in the morning, and going to bed so she could the get the six-and-a-half hours of sleep she needed to function, and started all over again the next day.

Was she exhausted by the end of every week? Yes. Did that mean she could rest on the weekends? Of course not.

Weekends were generally reserved for one of four things: a) charity and theatre work, b) babysitting and other such things at temple, c) spending time with her dads if they were home, or d) extra and singing and dancing lessons if she skipped earlier in the week.

There was a reason Noah called her crazy.

It was even worse, though, because even her very specific and thought-out schedule couldn’t account for what she called _The McKinley Effect_. It happened at least three times a week, and never on any real schedule. The only thing that was really planned out was that it always happened before lunch, so she usually just choked down her sandwich in the bathroom as she tried to scrub her clothes—slushies are unnecessarily difficult to get out of clothes, she’s learned.

So she usually spends her lunch hour in the ladies’ bathroom, scrubbing her shirt in between bites of her vegan lunch and trying not to cry when she’s washing out her hair and accidentally gets sugar and syrup in her eyes.

Rachel hates that this happens, but she’s complained to the principal multiple times and he hasn’t done anything about it, so she just resigns herself to the knowledge that she’ll be bringing a suitcase with three extra outfits to school every day.

For some reason, it hurts her more when Noah slushies her than when the other jocks do. She’s not sure why, because in actuality, the physical pain is a lot more manageable when he slushies her. He only uses mediums, not the extra-larges the others use, and she’s pretty sure he at least makes sure all the big chunks are broken up. This certainty comes from experiencing the feeling of sharp ice cutting into her brow and lips hard enough to make her bleed, which only happens when the other jocks do it and never when Noah does.

Maybe it’s the flash of horror Rachel can always see in Noah’s eyes when he catches her crying, or maybe it’s the truly pathetic apologies he always offers at temple on the weekends. Maybe it’s because they’re friends sometimes and brutal enemies most of the time, or maybe it’s the fact that her savior is bullying her. Whatever it is, something in her aches every time she sees Noah’s face behind the waterfall of sugary ice. She always forgives him, though, because, as Noah likes to say, they’re “both hot Jews, and hot Jews gotta stick together, right?”

So she weathers the pain and humiliation of her freshman year, even though she’s laughed out of her Cheerios audition and gets teased for always either talking too much (she could get very talkative if she was passionate about the subject, it was the whole reason she created the Speech Club) or not enough (she preferred to conserve her energy and voice for when she’ll be making an effect).

And then, without her even realizing it, summer’s approaching, and she’s looking forward to the break.

The day before the last day of school, one of the office aids came down and told her she was the recipient of some award for being perfect or something. The award isn't the important thing—the important thing didn’t happen until the next day.

Evidently, getting awards for your perfection made you even more of a loser. Also, apparently, slushies actually come in a bigger size than extra-large.

So it was about forty minutes until the last bell of the year, and she was headed toward her last class when she turned a corner and found herself drenched in ninety-six ounces of slush, ice chunks the size of the buttons on her blouse, sugar, and colored syrup. The frozen waterfall dripped down her neck and all the way down the back of her skirt. Her _socks_ were soaked, for goodness’ sake.

As her hair dripped into her eyes and stuck to her forehead, as sugary blue syrup flowed dangerously close to her eyes, she looked up and into the eyes of David Karovsky.

He grinned down at her like a predator. “Gonna cry about it, freak?” he taunted.

With a flick of his fingers, he threw the giant cup at her. It bounced off her forehead and onto the ground between them.

She looked down at it, then back up. Looking past her current bully, she locked eyes with Noah. He looked _livid_ , but she kept her face straight, looking back at David.

“I’m sorry you feel the need to supplement your manhood by hounding small girls,” she quipped. She hiked the strap of her bag up on her shoulder, grimacing as it grit against her skin and spitting out a few ice chunks. “Maybe if your crude football team spent less time worrying about us _freaks_ and _losers_ , you might actually win us a game.”

With that, she swiveled on her heel, slipping just a bit on the ice beneath her, and made her way back down the hall. She heard the jock shouting after her angrily, but he didn’t follow. When she got down to the end of the hallway, she looked behind her to see that Noah had pushed his supposed friend up against the wall.

“—mine,” he was telling him gruffly. “So stay the hell away from her.”

* * *

Noah Puckerman did not ever— _ever_ —speak to Rachel Berry at school. It was a known fact.

They were in separate social circles, since Puck was head honcho and Berry was a total loser. (It was an unspoken agreement among the jocks, though, that the chick had the best legs in the whole school. Like, seriously, none of them would have minded having those legs wrapped around them—if she would just shut up about her stupid musicals for two seconds.) Berry never went to parties because of her schedule, and on weekends she was too busy with her silly charities. Puck was a womanizer—had been since he lost his virginity the month before his fifteenth birthday—and he didn’t do the whole feelings thing, but Berry was all about true love and all that.

It was also a known fact, however—and it was anything but unspoken, was actually spoken very _loudly_ —that Rachel Berry belonged to Noah Puckerman. She was _his_.

Now, if you heard that and you didn’t know him, you’d say it meant he was whipped. Not true. He bullied her as much as anyone. But he got pissy when anyone else did, and things usually got pretty physical if he caught anyone slushieing her. He knew it happened, of course, and he generally tried to stop the idiots when possible, but if he wasn’t there he couldn’t really do anything about it. If he _was_ there, though, he’d spend a few minutes roughing up whichever fellow jock threw the drink. He passed it off as defending his slushie territory, but he was actually just looking out for a fellow Jew.

Rachel wasn’t so bad. Sure, there were times she was annoying as fuck, but Puck was pretty sure she was the only person he knew that had a slushie’s chance in hell of getting out of Lima. Everyone else? Nah, any and all other McKinley students were just destined to be Lima Losers for the rest of their lives. But not Berry. She was going places. As much as her constant talk about musicals and dreams and stupid clubs kind of pissed him off, he couldn’t help but admire her ambition.

(Yeah, he knew big words, shut up. He didn’t use them a lot, but he _knew_ them. He just couldn’t let anyone know, because most of his better vocabulary words came from Rachel, and they weren’t supposed to talk.)

So what if he made sure she was okay after he splashed her? It didn’t mean anything. No one needed to know that he apologized on the weekends. It didn’t really matter.

(It mattered.)

* * *

After getting that horrible slushie bath, Rachel didn’t even bother going to her last class. It wasn’t like they were doing anything, anyway, so she just left.

She got more than a few weird looks as she walked outside and started down the street toward her house. It wasn’t that far, really—just three or four blocks—so she tried to focus on wiping the ice out of her eyes. After just one block, she heard the sound of a car slowing behind her and sighed as she turned. They weren’t in sight of the school anymore, so none of the school kids would probably see.

Which was good, because behind the wheel of the beat-up truck was none other than Noah Puckerman.

Technically speaking, Noah wouldn’t turn sixteen for another month and a half, so he really shouldn’t have been driving. But this was Ohio, and a small town in Ohio at that, so everyone had pretty much started driving at fifteen, anyway. Cops had stopped reprimanding it in, like, the fifties.

“Hey,” Noah called out to her. He rolled to a stop next to Rachel, turning the engine off and clambering from the cab. “Here.” Noah pulled a beach towel from his backseat and wrapped it around her, dragging it over her hair a little before letting it go to drape across her shoulders. Grinning and wiggling his brows, he asked, “Let me give you a ride?”

Rachel just rolled her eyes and hit his chest with her—still sticky—hand. “Oh, hush,” she chastised. “But yes, Noah. You can drive me back to my house.”

“Come _on_ , B,” he groaned good-naturedly. “Help a guy out sometime.” Tossing an arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the car, holding the door for her to climb in. There was another towel laid out on the bench for her to sit on. “Milady,” he snarked with a little bow.

She tittered, hefting herself into the cab. “Thank you, kind sir.”

As they meandered through the streets toward her house, Rachel couldn’t help singing along with the radio. Noah chimed in a few times, but others he stayed quiet, focusing on the road.

(He liked listening to her sing like this. Her singing was different when she was singing along with the radio—quieter, simpler. She wasn’t performing for anyone but herself. It was nice.)

Noah pulled up to her house, cutting the engine. “You want me to stay with you? We could binge-watch your mom’s Broadway career again.”

“You just like watching them because you think she’s hot,” Rachel accused.

“Guilty,” he said with a leer. “Your mom’s smokin’, B.” Then his eyes softened. “Seriously, though. I can stay.”

She picked at the pieces of sugar that had crystallized on her arm, looking over at him. “Isn’t there a party tonight? Wouldn’t you rather be there?”

“And end up baggin’ the same chicks as always? Nah.” He shrugged, hopping out of the car and helping her out. “Besides, I kinda tipped the cops about Karovsky’s party, so I can’t really go anyway.”

She laughed as she unlocked the front door, kicking off her shoes and tossing her keys in the bowl. “Well, in that case, make yourself comfortable. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Can I join?” Noah called after her, already headed for the entertainment center in the family room. She had a TV in her room, but all the DVDs were in the living area, so he sat down and started picking a pile of movies for them to watch.

“Not a chance, Puckerman.”

He scoffed. “Whatever, Berry. Hurry up, then.” Mentally judging how long they’d probably be at this—it was one o’clock now, and movie marathons weren’t movie marathons unless they lasted well after midnight, no matter how early in the day they started—he picked out eight boxes (five Broadway, three cinematic) and made his way to the kitchen for snacks.

* * *

This wasn’t the first time they’d done this, not by far. During the school year, they never had chances to really hang out, but there was kind of an unspoken agreement that long breaks (Thanksgiving break, winter break, spring break, summer break, etc.) were reserved for each other.

Puck had plenty of friends, yeah, and they invited him to all the parties because he was a pretty cool dude. But all those losers ever did was smoke weed and drink and dance and have sex. As much as Puck enjoyed all of those things, it got old after a while. He went to the same parties every weekend and did the same garbage as always. School breaks were supposed to be different.

So whenever one of the breaks started, he’d start making excuses so he didn’t get dragged into everyone else’s crap. “My mom is making me clean the house this week,” he’d say, or maybe, “I’ve got this gig babysitting the monster mini-Jews at temple,” or even, “Nah, I found this cougar to pay me to sit around talking dirty to her for a month.”

After the first year, the other kids caught on, and they stopped inviting him places unless it was just a regular party during the school year.

He and Rachel were complicated, he knew. No one knew how they were when they were alone (no one but their parents, anyway), so no one could judge him for hanging with a loser like her or label her as a slut for chilling a little too often with the town stud. It wasn’t ideal—he hated having to bully her in public and then kiss up to her later, and she was always a little mopey because nobody liked her a whole lot—but they made do.

The tradition started one day when Noah ditched a stupid summer party. They were going into seventh grade, and the party was totally lame. He left after less than an hour and wound up on Rachel’s front porch. Her parents weren’t home—they hardly ever were in those days—so she’d let him in and handed him a soda before leading him up to her room. She explained the plot of the movie she’d been watching, and they’d kind of just gotten lost in it together. After that movie, they put another one in, and then another one, and then they fell asleep in her bed during the fourth one.

The next day, Noah went back home to explain where he’d been. (His mom had been happy to hear he was with such a nice Jewish girl.)

Two hours later, he was back at her place, bringing his guitar with him. She’d seemed fascinated with the way the guy on TV had played one the night before, so he offered to teach her how to play for herself.

“My dad taught me,” he’d said. “You know, before he ditched.”

From that day on, the tradition was set. Even after Noah started banging chicks left and right, he stuck with Rachel during their breaks. It was hard, sometimes, going without sex for weeks at a time. But it was like a religious thing with them, and even if he wasn’t the best Jew, he practiced _these_ traditions like he’d go to Hell if he didn’t.

Sure, he probably already _was_ going to Hell, but it was the _principle_ of the thing.

* * *

Rachel spent about forty minutes in the shower, trying to scrub all the sugar off of herself. It had especially congealed in her hair, which was horrible.

Fortunately, she had a stockpile of extra-strength shampoo for just this reason.

She scrubbed her scalp and washed her hair until it was smooth and shiny. She rubbed the sugar and coloring out of her skin until it stung with rawness. When she felt clean, she still stayed under the spray for another twenty minutes, feeling the water pound and burn her raw skin. (She’d definitely be moisturizing more than normal tonight.)

It wasn’t until Noah knocked on the door that Rachel snapped out of it, shutting the water off and stepping out into the bathroom. Wrapping a towel around herself, she opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

Noah was leaning against the wall by the doorway, looking away from the door. “Just making sure you’re okay in there,” he told her.

“I’m fine,” Rachel said. She pulled her sleep shorts on under her towel before tugging a shirt on over it and dropping the cloth. Now fully dress, she grabbed her skin lotion and her detangling conditioner (doubling back after a moment to grab a facial mask) and stepped out into her bedroom.

The two of them dropped onto the bed, Noah propped against the pillows and Rachel laying on her stomach with her head at the foot of the bed. She grabbed her hand mirror from the bench in front of her so she could see as she applied first lotion and then her face mask.

“Which movie did you pick to watch first?” she asked as she rubbed lotion into the skin of her arms.

“ _Wicked_ ,” he responded. Leaning down toward her, he snatched the lotion. He pulled her legs over into his lap and started applying it to her skin. “Sorry,” he muttered as she winced. Her skin was pretty raw and sore from all the scrubbing, not to mention the chafing she’d gotten on the ride home from the dried sugar.

“It’s okay,” Rachel responded, grabbing the remote to start the movie. “Oh, you picked the good version. I’m proud of you.”

He pinched the arch of her foot, making her yelp. “Yeah, well, the lady playing the good witch is actually pretty smokin’. Add that to your mom, and it’s like a threesome just waiting for me.”

She sighed, wiggling her toes at him. “Must you be so crude?”

“I prefer lewd.”

“You know that’s worse, right?”

“Yup,” he said, popping the _p_. “That’s why I like it better.”

* * *

The next day found them sitting in the basement. Rachel played the piano, Noah harmonized on his guitar. It was peaceful.

Her dads got home around three that afternoon, and then Noah had gone home. He would come back later in the week, though.

Rachel was always happy to spend time with her dads, but she was still sort of on edge from the day before. She was an actress, though, so she didn’t think they’d notice.


	3. Chapter 3

They noticed.

Rachel was a good girl—she was a perfect daughter—so she always told the truth. Which meant it was that much more obvious when she was hiding something.

LeRoy and Hiram had suspected something for months. Years, even. Whenever they would come home, Rachel would jabber on about school and her clubs and such, but they could just tell she was leaving things out. For instance, she never, not once, brought up anything that happened at lunch, and whenever she spoke about people she would say, “This girl in my English class…” or, “This one boy in band today…” She _never_ said, “My friend…” or, “My lab partner…”

She was athletic, but didn’t go for sports. She claimed it was because she just didn’t have the time, but she always hesitated like she was thinking of something particularly unpleasant.

This time when they came home, it was to find Rachel jittery and nervous. If she were anyone else, they’d think she was sneaking a boy into her room or hiding a drug addiction. But she was very particular about not dating, and she would never do anything that could potentially ruin her body for future performances.

The two men waited until she went to bed before going to investigate.

First, they checked the basement. It was clear she and Noah had spent the day down there, but there wasn’t anything odd or out of place, so they moved on.

The two split up, systematically searching rooms in the house one by one. Eventually, the only room that would feasibly hold anything of importance was Rachel’s bathroom.

The room had another door in addition to the one in leading to Rachel’s room, and it led directly out into the hallway. They had to be careful opening this door, though, because Rachel always kept the other one open a crack, since she didn’t like to sleep in the dark and said that keeping a TV on was too distracting and a lamp took up too much power.

As LeRoy slipped into the room after his partner, he immediately noticed the mess.

(With all the chilling she and Noah had been doing earlier in the day, and the restrictions of her movement due to raw skin last night, Rachel hadn’t had time nor energy to clean up.)

There was a blue tinge to the floor of her usually white shower, and a random beach towel was covered in some kind of blue dye. When Hiram picked it up, it was sticky. In addition, there was a thin trail of bright blue water leading to the sink, where two empty shampoo bottles had been tossed aside carelessly. The bar of soap seemed crusted with sapphire sparkles.

The most damning of all, though, was in the sink. Submerged in cold, murky, blue-grey water was one of Rachel’s favorite summer outfits. They knew it was her favorite, because it was one of few that she wore many dozens of times instead of just a couple.

The two men exchanged a look before backing out of the room. They weren’t sure what had happened, but as they thought about the few times they’d been home in the last year, they were fairly certain it wasn’t the first time.

Lecturing could wait until the morning.

* * *

When Rachel woke up at nine the next morning, she first thought she was late for school. Then she remembered it was summer.

And _then_ she remembered the mess she had to clean up in her bathroom. Groaning softly, she decided to get breakfast first. Then she would clean and go for a run—maybe even a swim, the town pool had to be open by now—and start on her summer assignments. Plus, she had to go schedule her dancing, singing, and instrument lessons for the summer.

She stayed in bed for ten more minutes.

Dragging herself from under the covers finally, Rachel trotted softly down the hall and then down the stairs. It was a weekday, and her dads were home, and usually they slept in when they were home on weekdays. She didn’t want to wake them.

They were waiting for her at the dining room table, and she almost dropped the carton of soy milk she’d been holding when she saw them.

“Dad, Daddy,” she squeaked. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

They exchanged a look. It made her nervous.

She plastered on her show-face as she grabbed a banana. “Is everything okay?”

“Rachel,” LeRoy said slowly. “We wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

Her smile fell a bit. “Is everything okay?” she asked again. “Did something happen?”

Another look exchanged.

“That’s what we wanted to ask _you_ ," LeRoy said. “Sweetheart…”

“Why is your bathroom blue?” Hiram blurted.

Rachel jumped, her banana falling to the table gracelessly. “You were in my bathroom?”

“We were worried about you,” LeRoy stated. “After how odd you were acting yesterday after Noah left…Well, you can’t really blame us.”

She grimaced, sinking into her chair. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?” Hiram said gently. He touched her arm. “Sweetheart, just tell us what happened.” Rachel grumbled a reply. “What was that?”

“I said someone spilled their drink on me the other day.” She sighed, picking up her banana and peeling it. “I had to scrub out my clothes and stuff, and it got a little messy.” She took a bite.

LeRoy’s eyes narrowed. “Seems like an awfully big mess for a spilled drink.”

Rachel shrugged, swallowing another bite. “It was a big drink.” She pushed away from the table. “I should probably clean up, anyway. Can I go?”

They looked at each other again before nodding and watching her head back upstairs.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as she’s making it out to be,” Hiram observed.

“I don’t think so.”

They did the only thing they could do—each took out their phone, dialing two different numbers.

* * *

Noah Puckerman was sitting in his room that morning, tossing a football between his hands and trying to decide between going to the pool for the day or just going over to Rachel’s despite her dads being home. He was leaning more towards going to see Rachel, because even though it had been less than a day he was already kind of starting to miss her snotty, reedy voice talking about Broadway and music.

(Hey, she was the only person he could even _talk_ to about music. Yeah, kids liked music fine, but they weren’t fanatic about it like he and Rachel were—though, admittedly, her fanaticism was more extensive than his.)

Besides, he’d heard that Dave and his boys were headed to the pool, and he wasn’t really in the mood for a fight today.

But it didn’t matter what his plans might have been, because he knew shit was about to go down the second LeRoy Berry’s number came up on his cell phone.

They never spoke on the phone, but Puck had both of Rachel’s dads’ numbers, just in case of emergency. He was almost ninety percent sure that this wasn’t that kind of emergency, and that _so_ made it worse.

He took a deep breath before answering. “LeRoy?”

“Hello, Noah,” the man said politely. “I was wondering if you’d perhaps like to come to dinner tonight. I know it’s the beginning of summer, so you must have things you’d like to be doing, but I’m sure Rachel would like to have you there. For moral support.”

“Moral support?” he asked slowly, setting his football aside. “Support for what?”

LeRoy hesitated. “It’s a surprise,” he said, then rushed to continue. “A good one, a good surprise, but…”

“Rachel hates surprises,” Puck blurted.

“She’ll like this one,” he insisted. “But I’d still like her to have all the support we can give her.”

The teenager paused, running a hand over his mohawk. “I don’t have anything going on. Today or at all this summer, really. I’ll come to dinner.”

LeRoy sounded almost relieved when he answered, “Thank you, Noah. Just come by around six.” A pause. “And dress nice. Well, nicer than usual.”

“Meaning?"  _I really hope he’s not expecting me to dress up for what I’m pretty sure is going to be my own funeral._

“No Letterman jacket, no jersey, and _please_ do not wear shorts and sandals.”

 _Blue jeans and a t-shirt it is_ , Puck thought, still skeptical. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll be there. Dressed somewhat nicely.”

“Good,” the man chirped. _Chirped_ , like a bird. “Goodbye, Noah.”

“See ya, LeRoy.”

The line went dead.

“Shit, Berry. What did you _do_?"

* * *

If you’d asked eighteen-year-old Shelby Corcoran if she was planning to have kids at any point in her life, she would have said, “Not until after Broadway, darling.”

If you’d asked twenty-year-old Shelby Corcoran, fresh off the birth of her daughter and very new to the Broadway scene, what she thought she would be doing in fifteen years, she would have stated firmly, “Performing _Wicked_ on Broadway. Or maybe still doing this show. Or maybe that new one—the name escapes me…Definitely something on a stage, though.”

If you’d asked twenty-five-year-old Shelby Corcoran, as she made her way from her uptown New York apartment to the theatre for another night of performing as Mimi Márquez in the newest iteration of _Rent_ , if her faith in her talent would ever waver, she would pause for half a second to look up from her phone and into your eyes, quirk her brow with a smirk, and say, “Well, if I can play a Hispanic dancer-slash-drug-addict who happens to also have HIV, I don’t really think there’s a limit to where my _talent_ will take me. If I start doubting it now, where will I be?”

If you’d asked thirty-four-year-old Shelby Corcoran, as she sat in her new living room in Akron, Ohio watching old tapes of her new show choir, how she got _here_ , of all places, she’d probably look over at you and answer automatically, “Singing is my passion. I’ve got all the awards to show it. Why not teach other people?” Then she’d turn back to her tapes and ask, “How the hell did you even get in here?” Because Shelby Corcoran doesn’t get flustered or disturbed or freaked out, not even by total strangers in her house.

The point is, she was supposed to be used to surprises—her whole life, the important parts, anyway, was full of them. But when she had to give her students a twenty-minute break because her phone kept buzzing, and then looked down and saw the contact labeled _The Dramatic Male Berry_ , she knew she’d been shocked yet again.

The next time the phone buzzed, she picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” she asked softly.

“Shelby?” Hiram’s voice was just as gentle. “Are you there?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m here,” she said louder. “I was in the middle of practice when you called, I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t it a little early to be practicing?” He chuckled. “I thought you had a strict two-thirty to midnight schedule.”

Shelby smiled automatically. “Usually, I do. But it’s almost summer. I can’t let them think I’ll let them slack off over break, now, can I?”

“Of course not,” Hiram chuckled. “I’d forgotten Carmel doesn’t let out for another two weeks." He paused, then sighed. “But I didn’t call to talk about Carmel.”

She hummed. “I suspected you hadn’t. What is it, Hiram?”

“I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight.”

Shelby jumped. _Shocked again_ , she thought wryly. “Tonight?”

“Yes. I know it’s a long drive, but I’d like it if you came.”

Shelby coughed nervously. “It’s not the drive that I’m worried about,” she murmured. “Why now?”

Hiram hesitated. “Some…events have happened. You wouldn’t be the only one there, obviously—LeRoy and I, Rachel, and Rachel’s best friend Noah Puckerman will be having dinner, and we’d like it if you came.”

He was redirecting, but Shelby latched onto the beginning. “Events? What events?”

“There are some things happening in Rachel’s life right now,” he said finally. “She won’t talk to us—though we suspect Noah is involved somehow, or at least knows—and we…LeRoy and myself think that this may be as good of a time as any for you and Rachel to meet.”

Hiram paused. “You’ve been in Akron for a year, Shelby, and she doesn’t even know. We don’t blame you, and I’m not saying you’re wrong for being busy or for trying to get your feet under you first, but…If she doesn’t find out from us or from you, if she finds out another way, she won’t be able to handle it. And with the things we suspect she’s hiding, you might be the only one she’ll feel comfortable telling.”

Shelby let his words sink in for a minute before answering. “Hiram, what exactly do you think she’s hiding?”

There was a shuffling from the other end, and LeRoy came on the phone. “We’re almost certain she’s been experiencing some sort of bullying or harassment. She came home from her last day of school with clothes soaked in some sort of sticky blue dye. She said someone spilled a drink on her, but…”

“But you think someone threw a drink at her as some form of bullying,” Shelby finished. She wasn’t surprised by the bullying, per se—she knew as well as anyone that kids weren’t always supportive of “theatre geeks” or “band nerds”—but she had a question. “If this is true, why hasn’t a teacher contacted you? Or the principal?”

Hiram answered. “We called the school. Principal Figgins said that Rachel had told him of the transgressions—he didn’t specify what they were—and also said he couldn’t do anything about them.”

“So he knew, and didn’t contact you?”

“Apparently Rachel told him if he wasn’t going to stop it not to tell us about it,” Hiram said bitterly. “Why he followed a student’s words instead of protocol, I can’t fathom.”

Shelby sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “That school is bad news,” she muttered. Then, louder, “Alright, alright. I’ll be there tonight. You said it would be you three and her friend?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Do you still live in the same place?”

“Yes,” LeRoy said. “It’s Rachel’s childhood home.”

Her grimace softened into a smile. Gently, she said, “Of course. I’ll be there tonight. What time?”

“I told Noah six,” LeRoy offered. “Dinner will be ready soon after that, so any time after maybe quarter past?”

“Alright. See you soon.”

“Okay.”

The line went dead. She looked at her watch.

 _Eleven-thirty_ , she thought. _Get there at six, subtract three for driving time, that makes three p.m. Subtract another hour for me to get home from here, change, and pack a bag, that makes two p.m. A normal nervous breakdown might take another hour, so that makes one p.m. That leaves another hour for rehearsal. I can do that._

“What was the phone call all about, Miss C?”

Whirling around, she sighed in exasperation. Of all of her students, she should have assumed _he_ would be listening in. He never could keep his nose out of other people’s business.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Jesse.” She sat back in her chair, watching as he flopped in the chair beside her. “I forgot to ask, how did your test go? Did you pass?”

Jesse St. James smiled. It was much nicer than his usual grin or his cocky smirk. “Yeah, I passed. Thanks, you know, for your help.”

“Glad to do it,” Shelby replied. “I know Dakota held kids back, when he was here. I don’t want to do that. My—someone I know, she’s really adamant about studying all subjects even if you’re majoring in something completely different. I guess she rubbed off on me a little.”

“I guess so, since you hounded me straight to a perfect Physics score,” Jesse snarked. “Who is this girl, anyway?”

Shelby smiled. “She used to be me. Now?” She shrugged. “Now, I hear about her from my old friends, when I talk to them.” _And about a new girl that seems to have taken up my mantle recently_.

“And that was them? On the phone?”

“Two of them,” she conceded. “But that’s all you’re getting out of me. Get back to your break, kid. You’ve only got five more minutes.”

“I _am_ taking a break,” he muttered. “A break from Giselle.” Shelby snorted. “Seriously, though,” he said quietly. “Is everything okay? You seemed kind of…I don’t know, worried or something, when you were on the phone.”

She smiled softly, pushing a few papers together. “Everything is fine, Jesse. In fact, if all goes well for the rest of this week, I might even tell you what that call was about.”

He looked over, suspicious. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means practice is ending early for today,” she offered. “Just one more hour, and we’ll all be free to go. And future rehearsals are canceled until further notice. Probably only a week, but possibly more.”

Jesse’s eyes widened. “Hot date?”

“No,” Shelby said quickly. “But I have a feeling I won’t be coming back to Akron alone—or I won’t _feel_ alone anymore, at least.” She looked at the time again. “And with that, break time is over. Get back on that stage.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she said curtly. “One more hour.”

He saluted her. “Yes, Coach C!”

Throughout the rest of the hour, all Shelby could think was, _I really hope this goes well._


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel was in the midst of a mental breakdown by the time Noah showed up at her house.

She’d been in her room all day, too scared even to venture downstairs for lunch. She’d scrubbed her bathroom until it shined, then hopped in the shower to clean herself. She went through her exercise routine after, then just kind of…laid on her bed. Silently freaking out.

Because  _what the hell was she going to do._ Her dads apparently suspected what was going on, and they’d been acting weird this morning. Hiram had come to check on her at around two, but she’d just told him she was trying to get a bit of singing practice in. He’d left her alone.

Now it was nearing four, and she was still laying on her bed and staring at her ceiling and freaking out internally.

Vaguely, she heard the doorbell ring, and footsteps on the stairs. The knob on her bedroom door jiggled—she’d locked both it and the outer door to her bathroom—and she sat up fast.

“Yo, Berry,” Noah’s voice called. “Open up!”

Half a beat later, she had the lock flicked and the door was swinging open. And there was Noah, dressed in a grey t-shirt with light-colored blue jeans over his work boots.

Rachel let him in, shutting the door behind him and looking him up and down suspiciously.

Noah threw himself backward onto her bed, his arms crossed behind his head and his feet crossing over the bench at the end. He smirked over at her. “Like what you see, B-money?”

She scoffed, sitting next to him. “Just wondering what you’re doing here,” she said calmly. “And why you’re actually dressed half decently, and not in your usual womanizer-douchebag-jock clothes.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re so funny.  A real comedian.” Reaching out, he snagged her by the waist and tucked her against his side. Her head was on his chest, his arms around her. He put his nose against her temple. “Your dads invited me.” He tightened his arms when she went to jump up in shock. “Hey, come on, it’s not that bad. Your dads actually like me, unlike every other dad in this county—probably this whole state, actually.”

Rachel snorted. “Probably.” She shifted, looking up at him. “Did they tell you _why_ they asked you over?”

His shoulders moved in a shrug, and he snuggled in further, yawning a little. “I dunno,” he said thickly. “They just asked me over for dinner, told me to dress ‘somewhat nicely’…LeRoy said something about a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises.”

“That’s what I said,” he replied with a smirk. “He said you’d like it, though, whatever it is. But he said you’d need moral support or something girly like that, that’s why he invited me. You know, because I’m your best friend.”

“This is true.” She sighed, her eyes slipping closed. She drifted, murmuring, “I think they know about the…harassment. At school.”

Noah peered down at the top of her head, worried. “Why’s that?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I dunno,” she teased. Then she sighed. “They were waiting for me when I came down for breakfast this morning. I guess they saw my bathroom before I cleaned it—they asked why it was blue. I just said someone spilled a drink on me—”

“The usual excuse.”

“Yeah, and then I came back up here and stayed here all day. I guess they called you right after talking to me? Maybe?” Rachel sighed again. “But I’m pretty sure I heard them talking to a woman, too.”

Realization dawned on Noah, and he hid his face from her sight. _Shit_ , he thought. _Bringing out the big guns. I know Rachel wants to meet her mom, but…she’s going to be pissed if they meet like this._

At some point during his little monologue, Rachel had drifted off to sleep. She curled into his side, her little hand clutching at his shirt and her head tucked under his chin. There was no way he was getting up anytime soon, he realized with a sigh, so he just shifted into a more comfortable position and let himself drift away, too.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

* * *

It was almost six-thirty when Puck woke up, startled by a hand on his shoulder. He and Rachel had separated at some point in their sleep—she was curled around a spare pillow with him just behind her but not touching her—so he easily turned to look up.

LeRoy stood over him, smiling gently. “Come with me,” he whispered. “We have something we wanted to talk to you about.”

Puck nodded, slipping out of the bed as softly as he could. Checking to make sure Rachel wasn’t disturbed, he slipped out of the room two steps behind the older man.

In the living room, he froze in his tracks. There was a woman sitting next to Hiram on the sofa.

Shelby Corcoran was easily recognized. Puck had watched her in countless plays and musicals, had seen every award show she was on, _everything_. You don’t just not recognize someone like that when she’s right in front of you.

His eyes had to be bugging out, and he glanced between all three adults like a deer in headlights. “Uh, what’s up?” he asked finally.

“Please, Noah,” Hiram said. “Sit.” He gestured to the chair across from them.

Puck perched nervously on the edge of the seat, rubbing his palms on his jeans anxiously. “What, uh, what did you want to talk about?”

“You seem nervous, Noah,” Shelby mused. “We just want to talk.” She held out a hand, and he took it gingerly. He winced when she gripped his firmly. “I’m—”

“Shelby Corcoran,” he finished, shaking his hand out. “Rachel’s mom.”

The woman’s brow raised.

“Berry—uh, Rach likes to watch tapes of your musicals,” he explained with a stammer. “Especially when she’s sad. Or happy. Really any time, actually.”

Shelby laughed lightly. “Well, I’m glad she likes the performances.” She looked over at the two men in the room, grimacing. “At any rate, we wanted to talk to you. And it, regrettably, is not about my career.”

Puck frowned. “Is this an intervention, or something? Is it about what happened the other day? Because I don’t think Rachel would like—”

LeRoy shook his head quickly. “No, no, nothing like that. We just wanted to ask _what_ exactly happened. Rachel told us part of it, but—”

“But you’re not sure if it was the whole story.” Puck sighed. “Look, Crazy is…well, she’s crazy. And some people don’t really appreciate it all the time like I do. Not that I appreciate it constantly, either, she makes me want to set myself on fire sometimes when she really gets going, but I’ve gotten used to it. It’s just how she is, so it’s whatever. Kids at school aren’t so…okay with it.”

Shelby frowned slightly. “You call her _Crazy_?”

He shrugged. “Force of habit.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s an affectionate nickname. She calls me _Sleaze_ just as much. It’s a thing—our thing. Anyway, Rach hasn’t had the best school experience the last few years.” His shoulders slumped. “And yeah…I was involved in that. And it’s my fault, too, but…I apologized, Rachel forgave me every time. Even though I don’t really deserve it.”

LeRoy looked disappointed. “What happened?”

“Which part do you want to hear?” Puck asked bitterly. “The part where I became friends with idiots who like to pick on everyone, the part where I became a bully myself as some kind of misguided attempt to make it just a little easier on Rach? The part where I was never fast enough to stop the others from getting to her? Or what happened on the last day of school, when I caught that asshole Dave pouring a gallon of slushie all over Rachel?”

Hiram looked ready to cry. “Oh, you seem so sad,” he murmured. “Oh, Noah, if you’d just explain everything from the start, I’m sure we’d…we’d _understand_. High school is difficult, we know, you just—you just have to tell us, okay?”

The boy curled in on himself, his jaw tight and his eyes stinging just a bit. “I can do that,” he said finally. “Not sure if you can get it, but I can do that.”

He looked up, saw Rachel at the top of the stairs, shook his head like he was clearing the cobwebs. She nodded, her eyes sad as she sat on the top stair, out of sight of the adults even if they looked up. Which they weren’t—their eyes were focused on him alone.

Taking a deep breath, he began. “I’ve actually told this story to Rachel more than once. I don’t know, I guess she likes hearing it? It doesn’t do enough to justify what’s happened lately, but it makes it makes a little more sense than just looking at it from the outside—me ignoring Rachel, eventually…eventually harassing her at school and stuff but being thick as thieves with her when we’re here or at my house or at temple. So I guess I’ll start where I usually do.

“When I met Rachel, we were kids. Just kids. She’s always been mature, though, and I had to grow up too fast, so after I saved her from that kid with the ‘fro—kid was so creepy, still is—I realized she was kinda chill. In a high-strung, driven, hardcore sorta way.” He laughed softly. “I started calling her _Crazy_ a year after we met. It was right after my dad ditched my family, and she was all worried about me and my safety and how my ma was doing, because that’s how she _is_. And it took me a long time to realize that, because she hides it really well behind all that selfish crap. But that’s also kinda _not_ selfish, because she just knows she’s the best, and she knows no one is better, but if someone _was_ better, she’d tell them.

“Anyway, she was cool about my dad leaving, and she was my only real friend at the time even though we didn’t talk at school or anything, only around other Jews. But I was messed up.” Puck looked up at the two men, the men who had been more like fathers to him than his real one had been even before he left. “You remember, right?” They nodded. “I was a mess, freaking out. I stopped going to temple so I could baby-sit Sarah, and then I wasn’t even watching her anymore, just wandering around town while she stayed with friends.”

Puck paused, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “God, I was only in the _seventh grade_. I shouldn’t have had to deal with that crap. So I started lashing out. I’m not proud of it, but I did. It mostly happened at school.” He snorted. “Honestly, none of this probably would have happened if I’d just skipped school or at least kept my mouth shut. But I didn’t, and my attitude got me labeled as some kind of bad-boy, angry douchebag. The guys on the football team and basketball team—the biggest jerks in the school—started paying attention. They acted like my friends sometimes, but mostly they just wanted another bully added into their ranks. And because I was feeling so alone, I did it. I just went with it.”

“You became a bully because you wanted friends?” Hiram asked slowly. “That seems…”

“Counter-productive?” Puck nodded. “I guess it was. But after two years, I got used to being avoided, and I had ‘real friends’ on the sports teams. Still, it got rough with Rachel. The first time it happened, it was just so stupid. I’d gotten in an argument with a teammate, and he kept saying that maybe I wasn’t as tough as everyone said. He told me I had to start playing by the same rules, and he pointed behind me and told me to call the person a freak And I turned around, and it was Rachel, and I didn’t want to do it, but he made me feel like I had to, so I did.”

He laughed wetly. “It was so funny, for a second, because when I said it she just gave me this— _flat_ look. Totally blank. Deadpan. And then she called me a moron and just kept on going to her next class. But as she was passing me, I saw her give this horrid glare to my buddy, and then she just looked so sad and disappointed and I couldn’t take it. So I came over here—it was a weekend, anyway—and I apologized and made her promise to sit with me at temple that weekend. And she forgave me.” He sniffed, rubbing at his nose. “And it went on like that for the rest of middle school. Before, I had just basically ignored her at school, but for the rest of seventh and eighth grade I was like her number-one tormentor. When we got to high school, it got worse.”

“How does it get worse than that?” Shelby asked. “You had to harass your best friend to feel like you had more friends, and she had to deal with knowing her best friend was her biggest enemy. How can it get any worse?”

Puck shook his head. “I may not know _how_ , but I know _what_. Kids started getting creative. I didn’t catch on for the first month—guess that shows how much I pay attention—but it was suddenly…suddenly a _thing_ to throw slushies at people you didn’t like. Well, it was normal for the jocks and the cheerleaders, no one else, because we were throwing the drinks _at_ everyone else.”

“Slushies,” Shelby said slowly. “You threw slushies at kids you thought were losers.” She looked skeptical. “You do realize that you live in _Lima_. Small towns like this…no one ever escapes. You’ll almost certainly all be Lima Losers for the rest of your lives.” She looked over at LeRoy. “No offense.” He shook his head, ceding her point.

The teenager laughed. “That’s what I’m always _telling_ people,” he said with a smile. “Rach is probably the only one at that school who’s got a shot of getting out of this stinking town, let alone the state.” He rubbed at his mohawk again. It was a nervous tick, something the Berrys were sure to pick up on after seeing him do it through the years.

“Anyway, once the slushies started, more of the jocks started going after Rach. Used to be I was the only one who paid any special mind to her. But once we were in McKinley, kids started gettin’ freakier than usual. Maybe it was because she annoyed them, or because she was so talented she attracted attention, or maybe it was just because she tried too hard. Seriously, she auditioned for the cheer-leading team, the Cheerios, and they _laughed_ her out of the gym. Like it was some big fucking joke, making her cry like that. She worked _hard_ on that audition, I know she did. I watched her practice every free second she had over the summer. It was a good routine. And they treated her like she was _nothing_. I hated it, but I couldn’t do much about it. Well, I could, but that’s kind of where it gets…murky.”

“Murky.” LeRoy raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“I was technically still bullying her,” Puck confessed. “But it was like…softer bullying. It was like some kinda backwards protection.”

At their questioning looks, he elaborated. “Like I said, I didn’t really know about the slushie thing for a month. And I asked Principal Figgins—under the radar, off the record—if he was gonna do anything, since McKinley has a no-physical-violence thing, but he said slushies weren’t on the list of things that classified as physical violence. So I did the only thing I could think of that would keep the other assholes away from Rachel, but still let me keep my cred at school: I slushied her. I made it pretty damn clear to everyone in the jock-cheerleader circles that Rachel Berry was mine and if anyone besides me did anything to her they would have to deal with me.

“It worked, mostly. Before, kids were hitting her with that stuff everyday, no matter what. But with just me slushieing her, it was easier on her, I think. I always broke up the ice chunks, because I knew the other guys didn’t and I knew she’d gotten cut on a few, and I made sure I only used medium grape slushies, instead of extra-large cherries like everyone else, because at least with mediums she just had to wash out her hair and shirt and not her whole outfit, and I knew she liked grape the best because even though she never drank it since she had a strict diet, whenever someone would toss grape on her she would lick her lips before wiping it off. Plus grape is easier to get out than cherry is. Cherry is the worst, then probably blue raspberry, then grape, and lime is easiest. But no one ever gets lime, it would have been suspicious if I dumped a lime slushie on her.”

He took a deep breath. “There were a few times when one or two jocks would step out of bounds and slushie her, and I couldn’t do much about it if I wasn’t there when it happened except give them a warning. If I _was_ there, I always tried to rough ‘em up a little. Play it off like she was my victim and I was protecting my territory or something. Either way, whether it was me or someone else getting her, I always met up with her at the end of the week and did something to make it up to her.” He shrugged, grinning crookedly. “She’s got a lot of favors built up now. Not that it would matter—I’d do anything she asked either way. Anyway, the last day of school was pretty terrible. I managed to keep everyone off her back almost all day, even though I knew they wanted to do something big, since she got this award at school. But right before last period Dave—David Karovsky—got a ninety-six-ouncer of blue raspberry slush all over her. I’d been to the sev-elev that morning, the cherry machine was out. Probably the one saving grace of the day.”

He sighed, sitting back finally. “Rachel ran out of school, skipped last block. I stopped by her class—kind of had her schedule memorized, just in case—and convinced her teacher to mark her as present, so she wouldn’t have a skip mark on her record. Because it’s _Rachel_ —I just _knew_ she would be kicking herself if she’d done that to herself. Anyway, after I did that I skipped my last block and headed down the road. I picked Rachel up—she was walking down the sidewalk, maybe two blocks from the school building, and there were people outside since it was around lunch time, and they were looking at her funny. I gave her a towel and a ride home, we hung out all night.”

He sent a lopsided smile Shelby’s way. “We mostly ate snacks and watched a few of your older performances. _Wicked_ , _Rent_ , _If/Then_ , the one where they tried to tell _Enchanted_ from Nancy’s point of view, the original version of _Beaches_.”

He looked at the two men. “And then you two came home, I went back to mine, and then today I got a call from LeRoy asking me to dinner.” He shrugged. “Not sure what happened between the time I left and when I got the call, but I’ve told my story.”

All three adults exchanged looks, remaining silent.

There were footsteps on the stairs. “Well,” Rachel said dryly. “Since Noah has officially let the cat out of the bag—by the way, Sleaze, I knew all about the breaking up of the ice, thank you for that, it saved me a lot of injury—I guess you’ll want to interrogate me, as well?”

As she stepped into the doorway of the family room, she glanced over at the sofa. She did a double take.

“ _Mom_?”

Shelby stood and walked over to her slowly. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s nice to see you. You know, outside of a picture or a video.”

Rachel’s eyes shone with tears, and the suddenly she was in her mother’s arms like she’d always belonged there. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she choked. “You’re really here.”

Shelby smoothed a hand over her daughter’s hair, rubbing her back gently. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Pulling away slightly, she smiled down at the girl. “You look like me,” she said, almost startled.

Rachel laughed in surprise. “I guess so.” She leaned back, wiping her eyes.

Shelby kissed her forehead. “I’ve seen you in pictures and videos, I held you as a baby, but this is so much better.”

The girl looked at her dads accusingly.

Hiram shrugged. “Guilty.”

The woman laughed lightly. “Oh, don’t be too mad at them, sweetie. I asked for the pictures. I wanted to get to know you as you grew up, not suddenly show up and have to scramble to learn about the young woman you’ve become.”

“Okay,” Rachel agreed easily. “But what are you doing here now?” She looked at the others in the room. “It’s not just because of the other day, right?”

“Of course not,” Shelby assured. “I would have come earlier, when I moved back here, but I was just so busy with the team and the Glee competitions, I—”

“Moved back here? To Ohio?” Shelby nodded slowly. “What do you mean team?” Rachel continued. “Glee competi—no way.” Her eyes widened. “ _You’re_ Coach SC? Coach of _Vocal Adrenaline_?” Shelby’s guilty look was enough of an answer.

“Who now?” Puck asked. He was honestly so lost right now.

“They’re only, like, the greatest show choir in the nation,” Rachel gushed to him. “Carmel High School in Akron is as close to a private school as you can get while still being in the public domain. They’ve won the last, like, seven Nationals. I heard they got a new coach, but since I haven’t been to the competitions and could only find their performances—no medal ceremonies—online, I didn’t know their name. Articles online just said _Coach SC_ . No _pronouns_ , even.”

He still seemed confused, but he nodded slowly. “Right.”

Rachel looked at her mother. “This is so cool! If I’d known you were so close, I would have come to _you_!” She glared over at her fathers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

“Chill, Crazy,” Puck said. “Take a breath and relax. She said she’s been busy. She might not have had time to meet you even if you had come to her. Right, Miss C?”

Oh, lordy, did this boy remind her of Jesse. Less confidence and drive, maybe. But definitely the same charmingly cocky attitude.

“Call me Shelby, kid,” she chastised. “But yes, that’s right. I’ve been working nonstop to keep VA primed. Now that we’ve gotten through the first year under my coaching, though, I’m sure I’ll be able to relax a bit. I’ll visit sometimes. I’ll actually be in town all week this week. We can talk more, okay?”

Rachel beamed. “Really?” At Shelby’s nod, she squealed, jumping back into her mom’s arms. “This is going to be the best summer!”

* * *

The five of them talked for a while before sitting down to eat dinner.

It wasn’t the easiest conversation. Rachel was frustrated that her parents didn’t trust her to make her own decisions, the adults were concerned that she was in over her head, and Noah was trying hard not to take sides, because he _should_ have been on Rachel’s, but he kind of agreed with her parents.

By the end of it, a few things had been established.

Noah wasn’t to blame for the things he’d done. It was like a hostage situation. The adults didn’t agree with his decisions, but because he was Rachel’s friend and seemed to really care for her and apologized, they let it slide.

Rachel, though nearing adulthood at the speed of a train, was not yet an adult. She wasn’t understanding that things shouldn’t be like this, that she didn’t need to simply muddle through it. She should get to enjoy being a child. She should be able to pursue her passion without being harassed for it.

As such, it was clear Rachel needed some sort of adult in her life. Her dads couldn’t be home a lot, but Shelby would visit as much as possible. Noah even offered to share his mom, since she liked her anyway. Rachel had glared at him for siding with her parents, but he’d shrugged it off.

Her parents would be going to see the principal of McKinley as soon as school began. If he didn’t take some steps to fix the discipline in the school, if things with Rachel didn’t get better…she’d need to be pulled out of McKinley High School and transferred somewhere else.

“She could come to Carmel,” Shelby supplied as they sat down to eat. “It’s prestigious, for a public school, and there’s a zero-tolerance bullying policy.” She shrugged. “Even if there weren’t a policy, though, the dramatic arts students rule the school, anyway.”

“Rule the school, huh?” Rachel asked, laughing. “That sound so much better than being at the bottom of the food chain.”

Shelby laughed with her. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure. Before I became Vocal Adrenaline’s coach, they had this guy coaching, Dakota.” She shook her head. “It was so odd, what he was doing with those kids. One student he was coaching, Chris…Dakota paid the school to flunk him in his senior year for _five years_. I tutored him this year, hoping to help him graduate, but he’ll still need to repeat the year again. I’m sure he’ll get it next year, though.”

“He’s got to be, what, twenty-three?” Noah asked. “Is that even legal, having an adult who can legally buy alcohol going to class with minors?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” Shelby replied. “But Chris isn’t a normal case. His dad is an alcoholic. He’s been sober for five years now, but Chris can’t stand alcohol because of it—he can’t even get ice cream from the convenience store, because it’s right next to the liquor section and just seeing the bottles messes him up.” She shrugged. “He’s got a doctor’s note and everything. And it helps that he doesn’t do anything else that could be considered poisoning. There’s a term for it, I believe. A razor blade?”

The boy choked on his drink, clearing his throat to mask it. “Straight edge,” he said, strangled. “I think you mean straight edge. No alcohol, no smoking, no drugs, monogamous relationships based on feelings and not meaningless sex. Sometimes no caffeine and some become vegetarian or even vegan. Straight edge.” Rachel raised a brow, and he shrugged. “One of my buddies—not on the sports teams, I swear—he’s one. Doesn’t make a big deal about it, but he told me once. I got curious. Sounds boring to me, but he seems happier than most of the other guys, so maybe it works.”

Shelby hesitated before speaking. “You’re…involved with those sorts of things?”

He shrugged.

LeRoy leaned over to her. “There _is_ a _reason_ Rachel calls him Sleaze, Shel.”

“But I don’t do drugs,” Noah defended. Rachel gave him a deadpan look. “Okay, technically speaking, I _did_ drugs. But I stopped after the first couple of times because I didn’t really like it. Sure, the high was nice, but it doesn’t last that long and it feels weird. Besides, I can make money off of selling the stuff, why would I use it.”

Rachel shook her head at him. “Noah,” she chastised. “My dad is a _judge_.”

“Statute of limitations is already up,” he corrected. “And your dad doesn’t work in Ohio. As for the selling, I never said I actually _did_ , just that I _can_.” He smirked. Her dad was nodding in agreement.

“You remind me of one of my students,” Shelby mused after a moment. “Anyway, as I was saying before, Dakota failed Chris for five years. He wasn’t the only one. But it was weird, because for other kids, he would send students to take their classes _for_ them, so that they would pass and move on to the next grade and eventually graduate. That’s what he did for Jesse and Giselle and a few others. But now that I’m here, I make them go to class. Like with Chris, I take a little time each week to tutor some of them if they need it. They’re smart kids, especially Jesse, but they haven’t had to do anything but sing and dance to succeed in recent years. I’m changing that. In fact, Jesse got a perfect score on a test this week, and he’s up for a scholarship to whatever school he chooses. After he gets through his senior year, of course. But that’s just one more year.”

“Jesse…” Rachel’s eyes widened adoringly. “Jesse St. James? The lead singer?” Shelby nodded, and Rachel sighed wistfully. She kept her lips sealed on the matter, but just barely. Internally, she was screaming. “Wow,” she said blandly. “It’s really cool that you’ve changed things around so much at Carmel.”

“Vocal Adrenaline has always been successful,” her mother said. “They’re the kings and queens of Carmel.” She chuckled. “They’re kind rulers, though. Nice kids, real sweethearts. Last year was their seventh national title—the third we’ve won with Jesse as lead—and the booster club bought new cars for the ones who could drive.”

“Booster club?” Rachel asked. “Wow, they _must_ be popular, if they’re getting that much in donations.”

Shelby nodded. “Definitely.”

“McKinley has a glee club, doesn't it, pumpkin?” Hiram asked. “I would have thought you’d be in it.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I was,” she answered. “Well, I’ll probably sign up again in the fall. But the club is a joke. Sandy Ryerson, the teacher who runs it, doesn’t let us do anything we want to do. He shows blatant misogyny, giving the boys lead vocals every time, not to mention his…” She grimaced. “Tendencies.”

Noah snorted. “You mean the fact that he’s so far in the closet he has to resort to touching his male students ‘casually’? Yeah, it’s freaky.”

“One of these days, I’m going to get proof,” Rachel insisted. “It’s just _wrong_ , what he’s doing with those boys. It’s not that he’s gay, obviously I’m fine with that, but…a middle-aged married man groping teenage boys? It just _sounds_ like a lawsuit and an episode of SVU waiting to happen. And those poor guys, they probably have some sort of emotional trauma, going through that. I can’t just _tell_ Figgins that, though, I need proof. Maybe I’ll tape it happening.”

He laughed. “Geez, Berry. So sinister and cutthroat. I love this look on you.” She rolled her eyes.

Shelby was laughing, though she seemed concerned. Hiram and LeRoy shook their heads fondly—Rachel was Rachel, always looking out for others even as she tried to further herself.

* * *

Summer passed in the blink of an eye.

Rachel and Shelby spent a lot of time together, talking about anything and everything. Shelby found that she was already growing to love her daughter, and vice versa. Rachel was happy to finally get to know her mom. Sure, they knew _things_ about each other, but now they were getting to know the people _behind_ those things. It was an experience.

After Shelby went back to Akron and started coming back only on the weekends, Rachel started spending as much time as possible with Noah. Her dads had stayed home for the week Shelby had been home, but then they’d been off again, and they weren’t likely to be back for a while. She had to keep herself busy somehow, and Noah was always around. They traded houses every few days.

At Noah’s house, they’d spend time with his mom and little sister. Rachel had always gotten along well with Hannah and Sarah, so she was pretty happy just hanging around at the Puckerman house. Sometimes she and Noah would take a break and sit in his room, and she’d listen to him play the guitar for a while. She could play, too, but he was better, and she liked listening to it.

When they were at Rachel’s house, things went on as normal. They goofed around all day every day, just watching movies and listening to music. Rachel finally convinced Noah to eat a veggie burger, and he actually didn’t mind it. He still preferred a real burger, but at least now when he was with her he could bend to her will. She was vegan—she didn’t force her ways onto people, but it displeased her to see meat on anyone’s plate. When they weren’t watching movies and just hanging out, Rachel helped Noah on his summer assignments. It would probably be one of ten times during the year he did his homework, but it was still something.

It seemed like summer was over before it even began, and before they knew it, it was only a week before school started.

(What Rachel didn’t really know was that, when she was with Shelby, Noah was going to parties. Not many, just enough to keep him in with the popular crowd. He started making the rounds with the cheerleaders, and one in particular had caught his eye. She was dating one of his good friends, though, the quarterback, so she was sort of off limits. But one night, he got to her, and after that he was kind of hooked. This would cause problems later, but not in the way you might think.)

Rachel and Noah sat in her living room the Saturday before school started.

Rachel was lying on the floor, finishing up a math assignment. She was taking AP classes this year—though she was planning on going to a college in New York for performing arts, it was still important to keep up with core classes. Besides, it wasn’t like it was particularly difficult for her to learn things. She was a quick learner in all subjects. And if she managed to get college credits, she might be able to focus solely on her performance classes in college, not silly things like math and English. This assignment wasn’t particularly difficult, so she’d only been working for an hour before she was finished completely.

She was just putting her signature and star on the paper when Noah cleared his throat.

"Rachel." She looked up, raising a brow at him. He shifted on the sofa, his eyes still on the television playing in front of him. "I was thinking, you know…about what’s gonna happen this year. With us, and with the kids at school."

Rachel shrugged. "Well, I’m hoping the slushie thing will get better. And then I’ll just have to deal with the name calling and the other general violence." She sat up, pulling herself onto the couch with him. "With us…I don’t know what you mean."

He hesitated to really bring it up, not wanting to disturb the peace or something.

(He liked Rachel a lot. She was nice, and she was hot, and they’d been friends for a long time. He liked that he could just hang out with her, no pressure to do anything else. She wasn’t like any other girls he knew. Would he mind particularly if they _were_ to make out? Duh, no. But she was all about relationships, true love like in all those musicals she loved to watch, and as much as he loved her he just couldn’t do that right now. Maybe someday—definitely someday, if he had his way—but not now.)

After a minute, he powered through. “Rach, you’re my girl. You know that. Finn’s my boy, and you’re my girl, and I hate that I get to talk to him every day at school but the only thing I can say to you in that place is insults. I don’t want to do the slushie thing anymore—even if it’s not controlled, I think I’m gonna start calling it lame. Maybe that’ll get a few kids to stop. I mean, it won’t work for everyone, but maybe.” She nodded, encouraging him to continue. “Anyway, I don’t want to play this bullshit game anymore—me treating you like crap during school and acting like your best friend any other time. I know it hasn’t been fair to you, and I know I’m just being selfish saying this, but—”

Her eyes stung. “You don’t want to be friends anymore? Is that it?” She laughed bitterly. “I thought you were better than this, Noah.”

“God, woman, let me finish.” He rolled his eyes, draping an arm around her shoulders. He winced guiltily when she collapsed limply against his side. “Jeez, Crazy, that’s not what I meant. I just…” He sighed. “Look, I’m not gonna be worried about bullying you this year, okay? We can be friends. We can talk in class. Maybe you can come to one of our games, or I’ll join one of your psycho clubs, yeah?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

Tilting her head back, Rachel looked up at him with wide eyes. “Really?” He squeezed her arm, nodding. She hit him with a sideways tackled. “Oh, my god! You scared the hell out of me, you jerk! Of course we can talk at school, jeez.” Lifting herself to hover over him, she rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. “And you say _I’m_ the drama queen.”

Noah laughed, relaxing. “You _are_ a drama queen.” He looked between them, smiling slyly. “You know, Berry…If you wanted to be on top of me, you could have just asked.”

She squeaked when he pinched her hip. “Hey!” she said, blushing. “Not cool.” Sitting back to let him up, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad we’re over this,” she murmured.

He rubbed her back. “Yeah. Me, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

The first few weeks of school actually weren’t that bad.

Okay, they were a little—no, never mind, it was terrible.

Apparently, the whole school had somehow found out about Rachel’s parents talking to Principal Figgins. None of them were sure how.

Rachel didn’t talk to anyone, and she didn’t tell them. Noah was busy with his own stuff, like keeping his cred as a jock up while trying to get people to just be _nice_ , to deal with Rachel’s stuff. And the meeting had happened before school the first day, when the only people in the school were the Principal, his secretary, and a couple of janitors, so nobody could have actually _seen_ it.

(Somebody saw it.)

That first day was pleasantly free of slushies. The next day was not.

It started simple.

Rachel had gotten a ride to school with Shelby, because she was in town for the week since Carmel’s school year didn’t start for almost another month. She’d gotten out in front of the school, instead of in the parking lot, because she was running a little late after they stopped for breakfast on the way.

Rachel leaned across the console to hug the woman, then climbed out. "Thanks, mom," she called through the window. "I’ll see you at dinner, right?"

"Sure, baby. Have a good day, okay? I wanna hear all about Glee when you get home."

"Yeah, see ya."

She waved after the car as it disappeared outside of the parking lot. When she turned, she almost ran straight into someone. "Oh, I’m so—" Looking up at them, she snapped her mouth shut and glared. "On second thought, not sorry."

Azimio Adams poked her shoulder harshly. "Damn, girl," he said with a mean grin. "How’d a troll midget like you come outta somebody like _that_?"

Rachel sighed. "I really don’t have time to explain to you how children are born, Azimio. I need to get to class." She moved to get around him.

He stepped in front of her again, blocking her way to the door. "You callin’ me stupid, princess?"

"Of course not," she soothed. "I’m simply trying to avoid your silly insults for today, because I’m already running late. So if you’ll excuse me…" She took a step around him, relieved when he stayed still.

He called out from behind her just as she reached the door. "Better watch your back today, short bus. Mommy and Daddies can’t protect you in there." He laughed as she froze. "Like Figgins would listen two two queers and a washed-up celeb teachin’ kids to prance on a stage in Akron."

Her eyes widened. At that second, she and Noah met eyes across the length of the main hall. He looked behind her, seeing Azimio, and raised a questioning brow at her. She shook her head, straightening her back and walking calmly to her locker. Noah’s was at the other end of the section, and when they opened their lockers, they shared another look.

Glancing around, Noah shoved his bag into his locker and shut it, coming to stand by her. "What'd Azimio want?"

She, too, looked around nervously. "Just another round of torment," she replied, pulling out a folder. "It was nothing."

"You’re leaving something out."

"I’m not," Rachel replied, too quickly. He gave her a look. "I think he knows about my parents. That they were here yesterday, I mean."

"Shit." Noah scratched at his hair, anxious. "Well, what can he do about it? Figgins agreed to keep an eye out, and yesterday wasn’t so bad." He shrugged.

"That’s what I´m afraid of," she muttered with a sigh. ¨Look, we need to get to class. Let’s talk later, though, okay?"

"Sure."

The two of them agreed to meet up by the water fountain between lunch periods, but when the time came, Rachel got there on time while Noah was running late. (He'd been cornered in the cafeteria and was being interrogated by his teammates. Finn was the only one defending him, and even he seemed confused.) Rachel stayed put, looking for him.

"Looking for your bodyguard, princess?"

"I don’t want to talk to you, Azimio." She looked over. "Or you, David."

Karovsky shrugged. "Yeah, we don't feel like talking, either."

Across the space of a split second, three things happened at once.

Rachel caught sight of Noah. He was at the end of the hall, frozen in place. He looked livid—and then he was running over.

At the other end of the hall, Figgins was walking out of his office. He didn’t do anything about the situation, just walked in the opposite direction.

And lastly, the two jocks each brought giant cups from behind their backs. Karovsky dumped his slushie over her head, watching it flow down all the way to her toes. Azimio splashed his over her clothes, effectively ruining anything that had survived the first drink.

Rachel gasped at the ice-cold feeling sliding over her skin. Her hands shook, and she dropped her books and binders as she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, letting loose the loudest shriek any of them had ever heard. She was sure she heard at least four doors swing open along the hall, and there were tons of voices muttering to each other.

The sheer pain of the slushieing was almost enough to make her black out. A lot of the ice was in big chunks, and she felt one sharp particle slide uncomfortably close to her left eye.

She fell to the floor with a sob, her eyes closed. On her knees, she curled in on herself, freezing. The scent of cherry and blue raspberry syrup filled her nose, and she felt it sinking into her skin. Literally, it was getting under her skin, because she felt the sting of sugar in a couple of shallow gashes over her arms, face, throat, and legs.

Vaguely, she heard heavy, fast-paced footsteps approaching, but they were almost drowned out by the laughter coming from the two idiots in front of her.

A voice was shouting, "—dumb-asses! What the hell is wrong with you?! The principal is _right there_!"

One of the bullies scoffed. Azimio. "He won’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like you care, Puckerman. One summer and suddenly you’re friends with the school freak? Let me guess, you struck out with all those cougars and it made you desperate. Or maybe you’re flunking a class and have to get on Miss Smarty´s good side to get her work."

"Fuck off, douche," Noah growled. Rachel felt something rough—a towel—drape over her shoulders, followed by something heavier and warmer. Wiping her eyes to see, she realized it was Noah´s Letterman jacket. "Come on, B. I’ll give you a ride."

Dave whistled. "I bet you’ll give her a ride, alright, Puckerman."

Noah snapped, launching forward and shoving his teammate against the trophy case. Looking around, Rachel could see a small crowd forming around them—teachers, students, janitors—and half of them had cameras going. She whimpered from her spot on the floor, trying and failing to stand on the slippery surface.

"N—Noah," she chattered weakly, but he couldn’t hear her over his anger.

"Listen here, moron," he bit out. "Rachel Berry has been my friend since we were kids. Long before I became Puck Puckerman. She’s my fellow Jew, and we stick together, unlike a few teammates I could mention. I might not be the best friend, but I’ll damn sure keep her safe from fucking douche-bags like you. She’s the one good person left around here, and you guys—jocks, cheerleaders, even me sometimes—are ruining her, and I’m not gonna put up with this shit, not anymore. You touch—no, you even go _near_ —my fellow Jew here _ever_ again, I swear to God I will come _after_ you until I see you six feet _under_. Got it?"

He released the boys jacket, stepping away and turning to the girl on the floor. He gripped her shoulders tightly and lifted Rachel to her feet easily. He kept his arms around her, ignoring the syrup in favor of keeping her steady. ¨Let’s get out of here,¨ he told her.

She nodded gratefully, clinging tightly to his arms and pressing her body to his chest. "M-My books," she whispered with a shiver. She looked down, but they weren’t there.

"I’ve got ‘em with me," he assured her, swinging an arm across her shoulders while keeping her close and stable with his other hand on her hip. "Let’s just go, Rach."

She let him guide her away, and when they stepped outside she shivered in the warm breeze, pulling his jacket closer around her body. She sniffed. "Thank you, Noah. I’m sorry you had to save me and—and ditch your—"

He cut her off, turning towards her as the reached his truck. "Hey, listen. Don’t talk like that. I wouldn’t have helped if I didn’t want to." He held the passenger side door open for her, helping her in. "Besides," he added, leaning against the frame. "I don’t think I would have been hanging with those losers much longer, anyway. Those guys get freakier every day, I swear."

They were less than a block away from her house when she squeaked in shock and fear. "My parents are at home!" Her voice was loud and high-pitched. "Noah, I can’t go home like this."

The boy glanced over at her. "Why not? They already know, it’s not like—" She gave him a look, and he sighed. Pulling to the side of the road, he turned to face her. "Rach, why are you so hell-bent on hiding this from your folks?"

Rachel looked down at her hands, picking at a thread in the towel. "I don’t know," she mumbled. She looked back up at him. "I just don’t want them to worry. A few outfits, chafed skin, humiliation—I mean, what’s the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it’s picking at your confidence. How long do you think you can handle this? Do you think you can go another three years, being totally alone and humiliated every day?"

"Fine," she snapped. "Take me home, I don’t care. But chances are they’ll take one look at me and make plans for a transfer. Or maybe you’d be happy about that—with me gone, you could just go on with your sleazebag ways and get back into the jocks’ good graces. Oh, wait, but that first part doesn’t apply anymore, does it? Because you’ve found the girl for you, Quinn Fabray, aka girlfriend of Finn Hudson, your best friend." His eyes widened. "Do you think I’m stupid, Noah? You’ve been following her around like a lost puppy since the summer. I assume you slept with her—or maybe she wouldn’t let you, maybe that’s your attraction—but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure your life would be a hell of a lot easier if I wasn’t in it." She shook her head. "On second thought," she bit, pushing the door open, "I think I’ll just walk the rest of the way."

Rachel hopped from the cab, landing unsteadily on the side of the road, and shuffled out of his jacket. She threw it back at him, the towel following soon after. Grabbing her bag, she glared aver at him. "I’ll get my books from you tomorrow." And she slammed the door, already walking off in the direction of her house.

She was mad, angry, heartbroken, pissed off, disappointed, ashamed. For a minute, she thought he got the hint and just went home or even back to school, but within twenty paces she felt arms wrapping around her from behind. She screamed, syrup still dripping from her clothes and spraying everywhere.

"Get off of me!" she shrieked. "Let me go! Noah!"

He grunted as she flailed, but succeeded in dragging her back to the truck. "Ouch, shit! Chill, Crazy, I’m not letting you walk home alone." He let her go, and she fell against the side of the truck. He gripped her shoulders. "Now, listen here, freak. You don’t get to say all that shit and then just walk away. You gotta at least let me defend myself."

"Oh, go ahead, please, Noah," she said sarcastically.

"You’re right about the Quinn thing—I like her, okay? But all that other crap is just ridiculous." He shook her roughly. "God, _you’re_ ridiculous. I wouldn’t want you to leave, okay? I like having you around. If you weren’t around, I don’t know what would have happened to me after my dad left, and if—when, probably—you leave, I don’t know if I’ll be the same guy. So I don’t want you gone, you fucking _psycho_ , so don’t ever say I want that." He let her go, pulling the door open roughly. "Now get back in the damn truck and let me drive you home."

Rachel just stared at him for a minute. His once white shirt was covered in blue and red dye, and he had a bruise forming on his collarbone from where her flailing elbow had caught him. There was a chunk of blue sugar stuck to his cheek and a red one on his arm, and he looked scared and pissed and defensive.

She looked down at herself, with her short skirt and her cute sweater-t-shirt soaked through with slushie and her shoes caked with syrup and the sting of tiny scrapes and cuts all over her body. Her hair was slowly drying and crusting with sugar, and she was sure her bag was soaked through to her binders, too.

She looked up at him. "This is like a scene from a movie," she blurted.

Noah paused. Then he laughed, and she couldn’t help joining in until they were both leaning against the vehicle for support.

* * *

Shelby was having lunch with LeRoy and Hiram, sitting at their kitchen table and chatting over salad and spicy lentil wraps, when the front door swung open. Hiram cut off his story as Shelby leaned over slightly to see the doorway. The door was swinging shut, but there wasn’t anyone standing there.

She heard footsteps on the stairs, running. "Rachel?" she called. "You’re home early, aren’t you?"

The steps stopped at the top of the staircase, and Rachel responded, "Yeah, I got sent home early. I’ll be down in a minute!"

More footsteps—this time, she was sure she heard two sets.

Shelby shared a look with LeRoy. "I think Noah is with her."

Hiram looked worried. "This isn’t good—something must have happened."

LeRoy was up out of his seat, approaching the stairs. "Rachel, sweetheart!" he called as he ascended. "What happened?"

Noah intercepted him in the hall, blocking his path. He had a jacket—a plain hoodie, not his team jacket—zipped over his chest, and he was wiping his hands on a towel.

"Rachel wanted to get a quick shower," the boy said. He seemed…cheery. It wasn’t like him. “She’ll be out soon.” He reached into Rachel’s room and came back empty-handed. “Well, I should get going. Just wanted to make sure she got home okay.” He was backing toward the stairs slowly, gesturing vaguely. “I gotta get back to school, you know, and…learn. Yeah.”

Noah took off down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Noah?” Shelby called after him. “Is everything alright? Why don’t you stay?”

“Sorry, can’t. Nice seeing you, though, Miss C. Tell Rach she can give me my jacket back tomorrow.” He yanked the door open and disappeared.

In the house, the three adults stood in varying states of shock. LeRoy was still standing on the top stair, Shelby was halfway out of her seat, and Hiram had almost made it to the door before it slammed shut. The only noise was the vague sound of water moving through pipes.

“Yeah,” Shelby said slowly, easing back into her chair. “Something is wrong with this picture.”

* * *

Once Rachel got out of the shower, it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened.

It was like a trip to the past. Once again, Rachel was standing in her living room, shifting uncomfortably as her skin chafed and stung and her parents looked over her scraped and raw body. She had more cuts this time (shallow, non-scarring) and the rawness from scrubbing was a lot more obvious because it was so fresh (last time the raw look had gone almost completely away after a day) but it was still the same.

Rachel shifted again. “Look, it’s not a big deal.” She pulled Noah’s Letterman jacket tight around her shoulders, still shivering even after her hot shower. It was surprisingly soft on the inside—probably because he wore it constantly—and the syrup hadn’t managed to seep into it on the ride home, so it was clean.

Shelby snapped. “The hell it’s not,” she said, clipped. “What if one of those cuts scars? You’re still shivering—what if you got hypothermia? What if you went _blind_? How are you going to follow your dreams if you can’t even see where they’re going?”

“I’m not sure it’s worth all that,” Hiram said calmly. “It’s concerning, yes, but let’s not get dramatic about this.”

“This is ridiculous!” LeRoy shouted. “This infantile tradition has been around for decades! I would have thought that today’s generation would be at least a _bit_ more conscientious about fashion expenses.” He sighed, a hand to his forehead. “When I was in school, I had to walk on eggshells, avoiding everybody and hoping they didn’t figure out about my theatre performances.”

“This was around when you went to McKinley?” Shelby demanded. “And it hasn’t ended yet! If I’d known that, I would have said she needs to get out _now_.”

“It’s really not that bad, Mom,” Rachel insisted, sitting on the sofa. “Like I told Noah, it’s just a few outfits and a little humiliation. I hardly get hurt, and my ego is big enough to take a few morons being mean.”

“Pumpkin, you don’t need to do this,” Hiram said soothingly. “It’s perfectly acceptable to not want to be in this situation."

"Well, I don’t see it as a _right now_ problem. It’s more like…adversity I have to overcome to reach my full potential." She shrugged. "Besides, if I can’t take a little ridicule now, how am I going to survive my inevitable life of fame? I mean, that’s going to be humiliating and degrading and hateful—I’m used to it by now, I’ll be prepared."

"Rachel, there is no equivalent to _this_ situation out there in the real world." Shelby wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I would know, I’ve been where you’re going. And there are people who will bash you, yes, as in any profession, but it almost never gets to public humiliation. Even when it does, it’s just words, usually. You’re protected most of the time, by security or by your cast mates, who will become like your second family." She rubbed the girl’s back, sighing in relief when she felt her relax. "Baby, you don’t have to go through this just to prove you can. We all know you’re capable. We’re just worried that you might get seriously hurt. You’re strong-willed, and if the videos your dads have shown me are any indication, you’re strong _period_ , but that won’t keep you from scarring or bruising or crying."

Rachel sniffed lightly. "I get it," she said thickly. "I _do_ get it. But…I can’t just leave McKinley. We live in this district, this is my home. I’d be leaving Noah, the only friend I’ve got. I’d be abandoning all the clubs I’m in—I even got into Glee Club again this year."

She sat up. "That reminds me! The auditions were during first lunch today, and when I went—actually, I met this boy yesterday and suggested he join, too, and he _did_ —anyway, I found out that Mr. Ryerson got fired for disorderly conduct." LeRoy gave her a look, and she sighed in defeat. "Okay, yes, I went to Figgins yesterday after seeing him touching Hank. It was just _wrong_ , okay? Anyway, Ryerson got fired and Mr. Schuester—the Spanish teacher—he’s taking over the club. That means we might get to actually be _good_ , not some silly stool choir." She beamed. "Isn’t that awesome?"

"It’s wonderful, honey," Hiram said. "I’m sure you’ll be the star of it."

"Oh, most definitely," Rachel agreed. "I mean, there are only five of us so far. There’s Kurt—he’s sweet and flaming but not out, and his range is actually very similar to mine. Then Mercedes, she might be a little competition for me, she’s got some power. But I’m more flexible, so I think I’ll excel. Artie is pretty good—really good, actually—but I don’t think he’s what I need for a leading man. Tina is…different. She’s good, and she’s good at dancing, and she’s got some soul in her and a little more hip-hop, so we’ll see how that goes. And then, of course, there’s me." She took a breath. "I’m hoping to find a leading man soon—if I wasn’t already so worried about Noah, I’d ask him, but as it is—"

"Why are you worried about Noah, baby?" Shelby asked.

"He’s risking a lot this year," Rachel said quietly. "He agreed that he doesn’t like being a jerk at school and my bestie at home, so he said we’d talk at school sometimes. But whenever the jocks see us together, I just get this feeling that they’re close to slushieing _both_ of us. I don’t want him to go through that. If he joins New Directions—Glee Club—it’s more likely to happen."

LeRoy nodded in agreement. "It’s plausible."

Hiram sighed. "I still don’t like this bullying business." He gave Rachel a look. "I want you to tell us whenever this happens, okay? No matter what. I’m sorry, pumpkin, but if this happens too often, we’ll have no choice but to transfer you. We’ll have to move, but—"

"Why don’t I just move in with Mom?" Rachel asked. "We could keep the house—or you could—and I’d be in the Carmel district. I could go there."

LeRoy shook his head. "You can’t," he replied sadly. "At least, not legally. Shelby isn’t your mother, not legally, and she doesn’t have any rights to you. Even if we signed papers transferring guardianship over, you would still be listed as living with us, here. You wouldn’t be permitted the transfer—they’d block the paperwork. To get everything to go through the legal passages, to make it all above board, we’d have to sell the house and buy a new one in the Carmel district."

Now it was Rachel who sighed. "Got it." She dug her toes into the carpet gently, trying to relieve her tension. "So how much is too often?"

* * *

It turned out that four slushie incidents in one week qualified as  _too often_ .

Shelby was helping LeRoy and Hiram try to sell the house. It wasn’t going very well—they had a few offers, but they were all way too low. (And that’s not in a money-hungry mindset—one family offered less than eighty grand, though the house was _clearly_ worth well over a hundred.)

Noah was disappointed when he heard the news. He understood, but she could tell he blamed himself a little bit. He even told her, at one point, "I’m just wondering if…if, you know, things could have been different. If I had stayed friends with you all the time, instead of being such a douche. Or even if we’d never been friends at all, if maybe this wouldn’t be happening."

She’d hugged him tight after he said that, whispering to him fiercely. "Listen here, Puckerman. This isn’t your fault. This would have happened no matter what. I’m just glad you’ve been saved from the humiliation of being seen with me and slushied for it."

Regardless of their feelings of guilt, they agreed to start spending as much time as possible with each other. Noah was still going after Quinn, trying to win her over, and Rachel was still trying to get the Glee Club up and functioning in time for Sectionals. But they squeezed time with each other whenever possible. He even started coming to her club meetings, and she went to watch his football practices while she did her homework in the bleachers.

She was overjoyed when Mr. Schue finally got her her leading man. Finn was cute and tall and he had a nice voice—even if it was splotchy and pitchy at times—and he could keep up with her vocally better than almost anyone she’d met.

They went on that stupid field trip to Carmel to see Vocal Adrenaline at their Invitational. Why Schue thought that was a good idea, Rachel would never understand. He kept trying to make them feel good about themselves on the way there, too. He’d say things like how VA couldn’t be that good, or how they didn’t have the star power New Directions had.

She’d told him repeatedly not to give them platitudes, but he’d ignored her. Rather than stick around to be ignored by her teacher, she started a conversation with Finn.

She tried to be funny, saying how she was sure the club expects them to get together. Which, he was cute, of course, and he could match her in duets, but she didn’t see it going _that_ far. They might have the stereotypical pairing—hot male lead, stunning young ingenue—but the height ratio was totally wrong, and he was kind of clueless. He didn’t even get her joke, just started telling her about his girlfriend, whom she already knew all about from Noah.

(Honestly, Rachel was almost certain he didn’t even realize she and Noah were friends. And he surely didn’t know about Noah’s feelings for Quinn. It was sad, really.)

Sure enough, when Vocal Adrenaline came on stage—and Schue made yet another _boosting_ comment about how they couldn’t be that good—they were all stunned into shock. VA was perfectly in sync in a way they might never be. They had the numbers, the moves, the synchronized voices. They even had a guy doing a triple flip.

(Rachel remembered her mom telling her about Chris, and she had to try really hard not to blurt out her knowledge.)

It was true group number, though one girl’s voice rang out slightly above the others.

After the first performance, Schue said they’d probably rehearsed that for months. And then Rachel just _couldn’t_ hold it in anymore.

"Actually, they’ve only been practicing that particular number for three weeks," she chimed. "And the next one they're going to do…" She flipped through her program pamphlet, nodding to herself. "Yeah. The next one is _Come See About Me_ in a masculine style, and the lead singer just came up with the variations and dance moves two weeks ago. At least, that’s what my mom says."

"What does your mom know about our competition?" Mercedes snapped.

Kurt leaned over to look at Rachel. "I thought you had two gay dads?"

"Surrogate mother, Kurt," Rachel replied easily. She turned to Mercedes. "And my mom knows about our ‘competition’—if we could even be considered competition for them—because she’s—"

"—the coach."

Rachel squealed a little. "Hi, mom," she said cheerily. "It’s good to see you."

Shelby laughed. "You just saw me two weeks ago." The woman pet her daughter’s hair gently. "But you, too, baby," she coo’ed. "Scoping out the competition?"

"Maybe," she said sneakily. It was a lie—she was seeing what things would look like for her when she moved—but her teammates didn’t need to know that.

"Good," Shelby said approvingly. "I wouldn’t want you going into things blind." She glanced over the rest of the group. "This is your team? You’re missing a few, aren’t you?"

"We’re still holding auditions," Schue said, finally breaking from his shock. He stood to shake her hand over the back of his chair. "Hi, I’m Will Schuester, the administrator for McKinley’s Glee Club. This is Emma Pillsbury, my co-chaperone for this trip."

"I’ve heard of you," Shelby mused. "Rachel tells me you bravely took over the club when the old teacher was terminated. I admire your determination." She turned back to the kids. "I feel like I already know you all so much from Rachel. Let me see…" She started going down the line, pointing them out. "You have impeccable fashion, young man, you must be Kurt. Hmm…You seem like a powerful spirit…Mercedes. Ooh, leading man, you’re _definitely_ Finn. Nice smile and glasses…Artie. Which make the shy girl with blue hair and dark clothes Tina. Did I get it all right?"

"Good job, Mom," Rachel said as they all nodded in shock. The lights dimmed suddenly. "Oh, the next song is about to start."

"I’d better get back to my seat," Shelby said quickly. "Rachel, come see me backstage before you leave. There’s someone—a few someones, really—I would love for you to meet." She glanced at the teachers. "Actually, it’s Friday. If you want, you can call your dads to give you permission to come home with me. I was planning on visiting this weekend, anyway."

"I’ll call them on the next break," she agreed quickly. "If that’s okay, Mr. Schue?"

"She’s your mom, Rachel," the teacher replied, still subdued. "As long as your legal guardians give permission, it’s fine."

Half a minute after Shelby disappeared to her seat, the music started up. The dancing was simplistic, but amazing. The background singers and dancers were so completely _one_ with the music and each other that it was like watching water over rocks. It all flowed nicely. The lead singer was a boy—interesting, since it was originally sung by a female group, and it only made the performance more interesting.

Jesse St. James had a way of capturing the audience with his voice. He was a true performer in every sense of the word—he had the moves, the voice, the show-face, the charm, the attitude fit for every situation. Rachel was sure that if they ever met they’d either be best friends (and probably fall madly in love) or become each other’s greatest enemies. Maybe even both.

Jesse’s voice crooned over the background vocals. " _I’ve been cryin’ (Ooh ooh)/’Cause I’m lonely (For you)/Smiles have all turned (To tears)/But tears won’t wash away/The fears (Ooh ooh)/That you’re never ever gonna return (Eh eh eh eh eh)_ …"

Finn leaned over to whisper in her ear. "He doesn’t have a partner. Everyone else does. That doesn’t make sense."

"He has a partner," she whispered back, eyes still facing forward. "But if they were singing this song together, he’d have to hold back. They have an odd number, so she was put with someone else."  Glancing over, she saw the question. "They’re looking for new members still, both to replace those they lost and to even the numbers. They’ll be ready by the time Sectionals roll around, unlike us—we still have to get another six members to join before we can even compete."

She was concerned about this—if they didn’t get enough members, they wouldn’t even be able to hold an Invitational, and Invitationals were the only way you got put into your Sectionals groups.

Rather than dwell, she tried to refocus on the show. Jesse seemed to be looking right at her—he wasn’t, couldn’t be, but it seemed like he was—and she blushed as he trilled out, " _Come on, girl/See about me (Come see about me)/See about your baby (Come see about me)/I’ve given up my friends just (For you)/My friends are gone and you (ha-have too)_ …"

Rachel was sure, later, after the show was over, that Jesse St. James might have been one of few men—including Noah, her dads, and _sometimes_ Finn—that could keep up with her. She’d already had some idea, having watched old performances of Vocal Adrenaline over the past few years, but seeing a performance like that _live_ …it was a whole new experience.

She walked outside with the others, seeing them onto the bus. (It had taken LeRoy less than two minutes to cave and let her go with Shelby—with Hiram it was even less time.) Mr. Schuester stayed back, waiting to get on last.

"Rachel," he said once everyone else was on the bus. "I wanted to talk to you about your mom."

"If your worried about me giving up our secrets, you don’t need to," she assured, her voice low, like she was telling him a secret. (She kind of was.) "I’ve only given the good traits, and I haven’t even told her about Artie’s rapping, or Tina’s talents, or just _how_ powerful Mercedes is. And I haven’t said a word about recruiting not going as we hoped, or about Finn not hitting the higher notes, or about Kurt’s voice being too high to reach the low notes we need him to."

"As long as you’re sure you won’t be put in a bad position." He touched her arm gently. "I don’t want you to feel like you’re either betraying the team or your family, choosing sides."

She shrugged, already backing away from the bus. "I don’t feel that way, so don’t worry." She paused. "When we have Glee on Monday, I think we should talk about the possibility of aiming for twenty or so members. That way, if we fall short, we could still have enough members to compete."

"It’s a good idea," he said. "We’ll talk about it on Monday. Have a good weekend, Rachel."

* * *

By the time she made her way back inside, the theatre was almost completely empty. There were a few stragglers, mostly in the back rows where the crowds had been blocking anyone from escaping, but they were all heading out, too.

Rachel approached the stage, climbing the stairs and slipping around the edge of the curtain.

She emerged just behind her mother as she spoke to her team.

"—but I think we should all work harder on sticking the lifts. Emil, don’t think I didn’t see you drop Shoshandra. Honey, are you okay? You look a bit stiff in your shoulders. Do you—"

Rachel tried to back up, give them privacy, but the motion caught the eye of the female lead, Giselle, and she jabbed a finger in her direction. "Hey," she yelled. "You can’t be back here! This is a private meeting! Vocal Adrenaline only! How did you even get back here, midget?!"

"I’m s-sorry," Rachel stammered, shocked. "I only wanted to talk to your coach. Sh-She invited me back here, I-I didn’t think…"

Shelby turned, startled, and she smiled when she caught sight of Rachel. "No, honey, you’re fine," she soothed, waving her over. "Come over here and meet the team, sweetie."

Rachel could hear the murmurs in the crowd as she came closer.

"Honey? Sweetie?" a girl asked.

"Who the hell is this chick?" one of the boys asked another.

"She looks like Coach C," the other boy responded quietly. "But I didn’t think she had any kids."

"Maybe a niece? Or a cousin?"

When Rachel got close enough, Shelby hooked their arms together to drag her into her side. "Members of Vocal Adrenaline," she announced grandly. "I’d like to formally introduce Rachel Berry. Jesse, Giselle, as leads, please present yourselves."

Giselle huffed, swinging her hair over her shoulders.

Before she could say anything rude, Jesse stepped up to Rachel. "Hi, Rachel," he said with a crooked grin, holding out a hand. "It’s great to finally meet you—Coach was really excited to meet you this summer." He gave the older woman a sly look. "She probably thought she was being sneaky, but it was pretty obvious." Turning to Rachel, he winked. "I’m Jesse St. James. You were in the crowd tonight, rigut? Saw you talking to…your boyfriend?"

She smiled politely and blushed at his obvious fishing, taking the hand. "Just a friend—we’re partners in our club. And I know who you are. I mean, you’re only the most talented male lead in show choir right now," she teased.

He raised a brow at her, still holding her hand gently, and she felt her face heat up further. "I’ve been following the circuits for years—never been to a show in my life, but there are plenty of videos online. I thought your 2007 rendition of _You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling_ was particularly apt."

Shelby pinched her cheek gently as a few VA members chuckled. (Rachel was sure she heard someone say, "Oh, no, another St. James stan." Which, hello, rude.)

"Ah-ha!" Shelby cheered with a laugh. "I knew you were just faking that indifference whenever I brought up the team."

And now her face was definitely beet red. "Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed, as she tugged her hand from Jesse’s. "Vocal Adrenaline is all very talented."

The male lead looked her up and down, his eyes narrowed. "You don’t seem like the show choir type. What kind of music do you sing?"

"Barbra," she said automatically. "And Patti, Celine, anything from musicals, really, or old classic style. And then I have a whole music collection for each genre, of course, and sheet music—really, I’ll sing anything, I guess, though I’m much more partial to musical theatre and true classics."

"Rachel is going to be on Broadway someday, too, Jesse," Shelby said conspiratorially. Her eyes glowed with a secretive sort of glimmer. "You might end up as co-stars one day." She looked at the other students, smiling widely. "Rachel here is one of the most talented, versatile students I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Oh, really?" Jesse drawled, suddenly sly. "Well, if Coach says you’re so talented, it must be true."

"Now, now, Jesse," Shelby scolded. "Tell the truth."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Coach," he said innocently. Somebody snorted, and he whipped around to glare. Somebody—Chris—backed away, still grinning.

"Jesse," Shelby said sternly.

He sighed. "Fine, fine," he agreed, hands raised in surrender. He beamed— _beamed_ —down at Rachel. "I _may_ have caught Coach watching some of your singing videos after practice."

"And?" the woman prompted.

"And I _may_ have watched them over your shoulder."

" _And_?"

Jesse rolled his eyes with a groan, making most of his teammates—Giselle seemed to be the only exclusion—laugh. "And I may— _may_ —have looked up your MySpace page and watched some of your videos." He shrugged. "Some of them lacked real emotional depth, but I’m pretty sure it was just because you were having off days sometimes, since most of the bad videos happened on the same days."

Rachel’s eyes were bugging out. "Oh, my god," she squeaked. "You’ve seen my—" And then his words clicked, and she buried her face in her hands for a second before looking up at him again. "Oh, my god," she said, slightly monotone from shock. " _You’re_ the anon who always signs _My regards to ol’ Broadway_! Oh, god, the first time you did that, I thought you were being another hater, and then I remembered the song and I—I _wondered_ , of course, who would know that line, and you seemed more supportive after the first one, not to mention all those comments about my actual well-being, but—but I never though you’d be…"

"A star?" Jesse teased. Then he shrugged. "I like the song, and it seemed appropriate. You’re pretty talented. I’d be interested to see you on Broadway someday."

Shelby smiled down at the blushing girl. "And she just so happens to be my daughter, so she’s bound to do great things."

"Mom," Rachel whispered harshly with a pout. "If you tell them I’m your daughter, how will they ever believe I’m as talented as you say?"

Shelby pursed her lips, thinking. "Well, Jesse has already said he’s seen you sing," she pointed out. "And he didn’t even know about our relations."

"Oh, I guessed."

Rachel gave her mom a flat look at Jesse’s statement, but the woman just laughed. "Honey, if you’re so concerned, maybe you should just show them your star power, let them judge for themselves."

"I’m not going to sing for your students," she hissed. "I’m not even remotely prepared!"

"Oh, Rachel," the woman said, distracted suddenly. "What did your team think of the show?"

She laughed nervously, equally distracted. "I think they’re finally starting to realize that we are _wildly_ unprepared to go against you guys. Mr. Schue kept trying to make everyone feel better, but it only made it that much more ridiculous when we saw the performance. And now I just _know_ they’re all sitting on that bus, thinking I’m betraying them because we’re related."

"No concept of separate personal and professional lives." Shelby nodded knowingly. "Understandable with children, but—"

"Oh, no," Rachel said, shaking her head. "Mr. Schue is leading the charge. I mean, I’m still his favorite, of course, being the most talented—he _did_ get a leading man _just_ for me—but I think he’s starting to doubt me. He said he didn’t want to put me in a bad position. Totally absurd, of course. I haven’t told you anything of worth and I know you wouldn’t hold it against us even if I did."

Jesse’s brow raised. "So it was your _school_ mates writing those nasty comments."

She glared at her feet. "You just _assume_ —"

"Kids don’t just suddenly start bullying after some random incident," Jesse said sternly. "It’s generally gradual." (He gave her another once-over, seeing her in a new light. She looked run-down, but still strong. Definitely not weak.) "How long has this been going on without anyone doing something about it?"

Rachel shrugged. "It’s nothing so much as that," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It’s just some teasing, insults. I’ve dealt with it my whole life—seeing it online isn’t making it any worse, just changing venues." She glanced around, self-conscious. "Look, I’d rather not discuss it, okay? Let’s just say that, while your team is on top at Carmel, I’m less than nothing at McKinley."

Shelby sighed, squeezing her hand. "I’m sorry about that, honey." She watched Rachel shrug and look down. She herself looked across at her team, a light bulb going off. "Hey," she told her. "I know what would cheer you up."

"What’s that?" Rachel questioned suspiciously.

"An impromptu Barbra song," Shelby sang in reply

Rachel groaned. "Mom, I _just_ said I’m not prepared to sing—"

"We both know that Barbra is different," she interrupted, peppy. "You’ve memorized her entire discography. And I’ve got the perfect song. Come on." She smiled, wide and bright, and tugged on her daughter’s hand.

"Aren’t you going to tell me what it is?" Rachel demanded as she was pulled out onto the stage.

Shelby shook her head, placing the girl directly in center stage. The seats were all empty—thankfully—and the spotlight was dimmed to a somewhat normal degree.

"No," Shelby called as she stepped over to the sound system beside the stage. "I’m sure you know it, though."

"I’m sure I do, too," Rachel agreed. "I’d still like to know what it is."

"Just listen. And sing."

Finally she hit a button. As the first few notes rang out into the theatre, Rachel turned to the invisible crowd. Only it wasn’t so invisible, because all of the members of Vocal Adrenaline were sitting in the first few rows of seats. Her eyes landed briefly on Jesse—he was giving her a thumbs-up—before quickly focusing on a point in the distance.

" _Someday_ …" she sang out. It was like instinct, this song. " _Somewhere…We’ll find a new way of living…_ "

Her mind drew up the scene. All the memories she could have had with her mother, if she’d met her earlier—her first makeover, getting ready for her first school dance, her first dance recital, endless days of love and happiness.

" _Wait for us…Somewhere…_ "

Three minutes later, as she let the last note draw out and her imagined life disappear, she opened her eyes to see her audience standing and clapping fiercely.

“That was beautiful, Rachel,” her mother called. She had tears in her eyes as she moved to climb the stair to the stage.

Jesse, on the other hand, ran and jumped straight up onto the stage, not going anywhere near the stairs. He came to a stop in front of her. “That was really something,” he told her with a grin. “I guess you practice Barbra often?”

She looked at her feet, her bangs falling in her eyes. “Yeah. I mean, it’s my middle name.”

“Practice Barbra often?” he teased.

“Barbra,” she replied softly. “After Streisand.”

“It’s really no surprise,” Shelby said as she approached, putting a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “That you grew to love Barbra so much. We did name you after her for a reason—she’s my idol, as well. Always has been.”

“So I’ve heard,” Rachel chirped. “I’ve been practicing her music since I was four, so…”

“You can definitely tell,” Jesse said approvingly. “I can’t speak for the rest of your Barbra songs, not even close, but that song was…just about perfect.”

Rachel twirled a lock of hair around her finger, blushing a bit. “Thank you. It’s…nice to hear a compliment.”

"I’m surprised you haven’t posted any Barbra songs on your page," he said curiously. "I mean, since she’s your favorite and all."

"I post that stuff to keep my talent fresh and alive," she explained. "I post things I’m good at, of course, but…Barbra is special. I keep her close."

He opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted as part of the team climbed onto the stage. (The larger part of the team, including Giselle, was leaving the audience portion of the theatre in favor of heading backstage again. Rachel had caught the female lead giving her a biting glare, and while she clapped with the others, her applause seemed…sarcastic.)

There were maybe four girls and three guys, and they surrounded the three already standing there.

“Well,” one girl said with a smile. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that that was a _most_ perfect performance. _Please_ tell me you aren’t in another show choir.”

“I am, actually.” She laughed. “We’re not competition ready just yet, but I’m hoping to be soon.”

“As long as you’re the lead singer, I’m sure you’ll do fine.” The girl held out her hand. “I’m Andrea, Andrea Cohen. You can call me Andi.”

Rachel smiled as she shook her hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Andi. I’ve seen you before, performing. You’re very talented—even my mom says you’re one of the best, up there with Giselle and Jesse. And congratulations on your Outstanding Soloist award. You earned it with that solo.”

"Thank you." Andi looked at her coach accusingly. “And that’s nice of Coach Corcoran,” she said sarcastically. “Of course, I’m sure she only said it as some sort of payback, but it’s a nice compliment.” At Rachel’s confused expression, she explained, “I was supposed to be female lead. But when Giselle showed up, I just knew she was better, so I stepped down before Shelby made me.”

“I wouldn’t have made you step down,” Shelby said quickly. “We would have had a discussion about the merits of both of you, and decided from there.”

“Anyway, Rachel, if you ever decide that your team just isn’t working out, you should come to Carmel.” Andi linked their arms together. “Between the two of us, we could give Giselle a run for her money.” She shared a grin with Jesse before looking back to her new friend. “And I’m sure you and Jesse would get every duet.”

Rachel was blushing furiously now. “Why—um, why do you say that?”

Andi almost answered, but Jesse spoke first, blurting, “I want to do a duet with you. I’ll prove it."

She just looked at him. One of the other girls poked her arm.

"It’s best to just go with him," the boy to her left—Chris, again—said in warning. She stared blankly at him, and he shrugged with a grin. "He’ll get you, either way. Why waste time?"

Rachel sighed, turning back to Jesse and standing straighter. "Alright, St. James. Pick a song."

" _Waltz for Eva and Che_ , from—"

"Evita, yes, I know it well," she mused. "It’s one of my dream roles."

"Good choice," he approved. "You’d make a wonderful Evita."

She gestured to the sound system. "Shall we?"

Within minutes, the two were circling each other, singing in that angry tone the song called for, and it was like the whole world disappeared around them. They were left to themselves on the stage, and they used up most of the space.

All too soon, the scene and song was over, and they both breathed just slightly heavier, staring each other down from across the stage.

Before a second had passed, before they’d taken more than three strides toward each other, Rachel was surrounded by the girls, and Jesse was circled by the boys, and everyone was talking at once.

"Like I said, Rachel," Andi lilted. "Every duet."

One of the boys was laughing. "Andi’s right. I’ve never seen anyone go against you like that, Jess."

"Shut it, Chris," Jesse said jokingly.

He just laughed harder. The boy next to him (Emil, she remembered) pat Jesse’s shoulder. "If they ever get their team together, this chick by _herself_ might give us a run for that trophy."

Shoshandra approached Rachel shyly. "That was really amazing," she said quietly.

Rachel beamed, her cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

Shelby squeezed her elbow gently. "Two perfect performances in one day. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart."

"Well, someone in New Directions has to be perfect," she tittered. "It might as well be me."

"Will Schuester is an idiot if he doesn’t make you lead," Shelby affirmed. "And I swear, I’m not just saying that because I’m your mom. Or because you remind me of me."

Rachel laughed brightly. "Well, I mean…"

Andi poked her. "Hey, we should hang out sometime. You seem pretty cool."

"Um…okay. Sure."

"Yeah, we can all hang out," Chris said. He put an arm around Andi’s shoulders, leaning his head on hers. It was cute. "It’ll be cool."

Rachel smiled, glancing at her mother and then Jesse and Andi uneasily. "That sounds nice. I mean, I’m only in town on weekends, so…but, I mean, you guys seem nice. A lot nicer than my…friends at school."

Shelby frowned. "Those people could hardly be considered friends. Except that one boy—he’s _somewhat_ alright."

The girl’s eyes widened. "Oh, no! I forgot to call him! He has a game tonight, I was supposed to meet him to grab fro-yo afterward."

"I’m surprised he agreed to frozen yogurt."

"He actually really likes it," Rachel told her as she pulled her phone out. "Besides, we both know he’d do anything for me. I mean, _really_ , who can resist?"

Chris snorted loudly, and she glanced up in time to catch him giving Jesse a sideways look. "Oh, yeah," he told the lead. "Definitely perfect for each other."

Her eyes snapped back to her phone, focusing extra hard in her embarrassment. She choked on a laugh when she got a message in return. "Well, I guess I shouldn’t have worried about Noah being disappointed," she muttered.

She went to close her phone, but another hand snatched it from her. "Hey!" she squawked.

"Woah," Andi breathed.

Chris whistled, looking over her shoulder. "Damn. I didn’t even think that was _possible_." He paused. "Nice bedazzling job, by the way."

"Yes, yes," Rachel mocked, snagging the device back and shoving it into her pocket. She rolled her eyes. "He’s oh-so-very talented. And an idiot." She ran a hand through her hair. "At least I don’t feel so guilty now, though I could have done without the image." She shivered.

Andi laughed sharply. "Prude?"

"Only out of necessity," she replied defensively. "Given that Noah is the exact opposite, someone has to show restraint. Also, I’m the DD between us, and I have a contract—signed and everything—saying that I can tear him away from anyone looking too clingy-slash-psychotic-slash-stalkerish. His words, by the way." She shrugged. "Being a best friend to probably one of the most womanizing teenage boys on the planet is hard. It’s also a nearly thankless job."

She paused, her head tilting. "Well, on second thought, I used to be thanked with slushie facials the next day at school. But now it’s slightly more thankless. Though sometimes he buys me CDs, which are always nice."

An arm came around her shoulders, and she jumped a little. Jesse laughed, not moving—she hadn’t even seen him approach. "Slushie facials? Sounds like hell."

"Oh, definitely," Rachel agreed. She looked at the ground, the toe of her shoe digging at the wood slightly. "It’s cold, sticky, and it always stains my clothes all different colors. Noah used to use grape, because it was easier to get out, and it’s my favorite, but most of the other jerks used cherry or blue raspberry, which stain like the devil and a smurf, respectively. No joke."

"Je- _sus_ ," a new boy said. "What kind of school do you _go_ to?"

She shrugged. "They don’t appreciate the arts, that’s for sure. Lots of kids get slushied every day. But I’m an extra-special case."

"Why’s that?" the girl next to him asked.

"I was labeled a bitch the first day of freshman year," Rachel responded, wincing at the curse. "And a freak the second day."

"Why that particular order?" Jesse asked quietly.

"My wardrobe. I wore my favorite outfit the first day of school, and I guess it was a little _too_ nice, because the captain of the soccer team—who happened to be dating the head cheerleader at the time—decided I deserved some…whatever. The point is, I walked by him in the hall, he said I was a tease and other such things I didn’t like, I turned him down, and the next day I came to school to find ‘freak’ spray-painted on my locker. The other jocks played follow-the-leader. The slushie thing started two weeks later. Well, for me it did—it’s actually been around for decades. Just another tradition."

She shook her head, her eyes closed against a shudder. "Anyway, didn’t I say before that I didn’t want to talk about this? Jeez."

Jesse ignored her last statement, looking over at Shelby as the others stood in slightly stunned silence. "You know about this?"

The woman nodded. "We’re working on it," she said cryptically.

Rachel shook herself a little, backing away from Jesse’s arm and going to her mother’s side. "Do you have any vegan soup at home?" she asked, changing the subject. "Daddy tries, but he never gets the right stuff. He always forgets the name."

"I don’t, but we can stop somewhere. Or just go out for dinner."

"Ooh, is that place from last month still open, do you think?"

"I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. We’ll head over that way. I just need to close out this meeting, and we’ll get out, okay?"

Rachel nodded, turning back to the rest of the kids. Some of them were muttering between them, talking seriously.

"Well, it was really great meeting everyone," she said softly. She waved a little, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "I guess I’ll see you around."

"It was nice meeting you, too, Rachel," Andi and Chris chorused, laughing.

Jesse smiled charmingly. "You should visit Carmel more often."

Rachel hummed. "I’ll think about it," she said with a smile. "Oh." She reached into her back pocket, handing Andi her card. "My number. Feel free to text me if you want to hang out. I almost never have practice, so I’m always free unless it’s during usual school hours." She shrugged.

Andi smiled, taking it from her. "You got it, girl."

Rachel turned to her mother. "I’ll wait outside?" She nodded, and Rachel waved on last time. "Bye, guys." She headed down the stairs, grabbing her bag on the way, and made her way through the theatre and out into the warm September air.

Almost as soon as she sat down on one of the benches, her phone started ringing. Looking at the contact that popped up, she rolled her eyes.

"I though you were busy tonight," Rachel mocked. "Don’t you have some blond or other to chase after?"

Noah laughed heartily. "She ditched after I stopped to text you. Not a real loss."

"So, what? You called me because…"

"Finn texted me, like, ten minutes after Brit ditched," he explained. "Told me he, you, and the other Gleeks took a trip to Akron to see that hot-shot group you always fangirl over."

Rachel’s cheeks felt warm. "I do not _fangirl_ ," she insisted.

"Sure you don’t, Rach," Noah mocked. "Anyway, I guess the cat's out the bag on who your mom is?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "But nobody knows yet about me moving, so don’t say anything to Finn, okay? Please?"

"He’s gonna find out eventually," he warned. "Everyone will."

"Noah, please," she plead.

"Okay, okay, Crazy. I won’t say anything." He paused, and she waited for him to continue. "How many more members do you guys need to compete?"

"Including my replacement, seven. I told Mr. Schue we should shoot for twenty members, just in case we fall short. We have six now, and we need at least twelve to compete—or even hold an Invitational."

"I think Quinn is thinking about joining. You know, for Finn," Noah said bitterly. "And wherever Quinn goes—"

"Santana and Brittany follow."

"Right. I’ve been talking to some of the lesser jocks, too—mainly Matt and Mike, but a couple of others, too—they seem _kinda_ interested. I could get them to join, maybe. And me, obviously."

"Because of Quinn."

"Mostly," he admitted. "But—just…I don’t know. Something to remember you by, or something," he mumbled. "Or a reason to see each other, at competitions and stuff."

"Aww," Rachel teased lightly. "I love you, too, Noah."

"Stop it with that shit, okay? Goddamn, I don’t know why I ever—"

"Come on, _bestie_ , say it back. You know you want to."

Noah sighed heavily, exasperated. There was a moment of silence—if she closed her eyes, she could almost see him looking around nervously, and she had to stifle a laugh. "I guess I love you, too, you psycho."

"That’s what I thought," she said smugly. "I mean, everyone does, secretly. Who doesn’t love a star?"

"Light-sensitive people," he deadpanned. "Or, you know, normal people. Them, too."

"Anyway, thank you, Noah," Rachel said softly. "For helping me. And, you know…being my friend."

"It’s kind of funny—ever since I stood up and told that douche Karovsky where to stick it, people have been, like…talking to me. They want to be _friends_ , like, _real_ friends. It’s weird. It needs to stop."

"No, that’s good. You won’t be alone when I leave."

"Rachel? What do you mean, leaving?"

She jumped, turning at the new voice and automatically lowering the phone. "Jesse," she blurted. "How long have you—"

"Wait, Jesse?" Noah said, his voice still loud and clear over the line. "As in St. James?"

Rachel glanced at the phone nervously. "Um—"

"Yo, St. James!" Noah hollered, and she winced. "Rachel Berry totally has a boner for your talent! Seriously, pretty sure she wants your—ahem— _Broadway Babies…_ "

"Noah, I literally _hate you_ so much," she hissed into the phone, keeping an eye on Jesse’s growing smirk. " _I_ want to set you on fire right now. Don’t bother talking to me on Monday."

"Hey!" he called. "You still have my jacket! You were supposed to give it to me tonight."

"Well, now you’ll just have to wait longer, won’t you?" Rachel chirped. "Goodbye, Puckerman." She hung up before he could say another word and looked back up at Jesse. "Hello," she said smoothly. "What brings you out?"

Jesse’s smirk grew ever wider as he stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, see, that’s a very complex question," he said seriously. "Because I _originally_ came out thinking I’d get to talk to a pretty, talented, _interesting_ girl. But now I’m thinking she’s a bit too…hmm, mysterious? Stalkerish?" he teased, taking a seat next to her. "I mean, I’ve just overheard a very interesting conversation, so I’ve naturally got a few questions, and then her best friend goes and lays the Broadway Baby bombshell on me, so—"

Rachel groaned, tilting her head to look at the sky. "That was really terrible. He’s exaggerating, I _swear_. I’m not a stalker—and I’m not a stan, I promise. Your performances are just…better than the others, so I watch them more closely. I have zero interest in having children with you or anyone."

"Now you’re just breaking a guy’s heart, Rach," he teased. "I mean, I’m a good-looking guy, I’ve got great genes. You’d be lucky to have kids with me."

"Mm, modest, too, I see."

"Like you are?" Jesse challenged.

"You have a point, I suppose," Rachel said easily. She looked at her lap, twisting her shirt in her hands. After a minute, she murmured, "So—how much of my conversation with Noah did you overhear?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "I believe the first words I heard were, ‘knows about me moving, so don’t say anything to Flynn,’ or something of the sort."

"Finn," Rachel corrected automatically, then winced when he sent her a triumphant grin. _Caught_. She sighed. "So you heard basically the entire conversation." Her gaze met his. "It’s not hard to figure out, then."

"You’re leaving your school," he answered simply. "McKinley, was it?"

"Yes."

"And you probably don’t want to tell me where you’re going?" Rachel gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes. "That’s what I thought." She didn’t say anything, so he got back on track. "So…your best friend—Noah Puckerman, I believe you said—is worried about making friends and showing affection in general, because he’s a man-whore."

"…Yes."

"And McKinley’s show choir doesn’t have enough member to compete, so he’s helping them find a few more for when you leave."

"…Uh-huh."

"And, apparently, you’ve seen all of my performances and your raging teenage girl hormones have decided that I’m the guy for you, because deep inside you, of course, _realize_ that our talents are _perfectly_ suited for each other. Which I’m not disputing, it’s obvious even unto me, a _slightly_ less hormonal teenage boy. But you’re nervous because I am a star who will inevitably become an even bigger and brighter star, and you are just a tiny star hidden behind many, _many_ blockades and you have not yet truly realized your destiny for the spot as one of the brightest stars the universe has ever seen. You see it, in the distance, and you’re reaching for it, but you don’t really think highly enough of yourself quite yet to really go for it all the way. So you’re nervous to show any feelings, because of whatever reasons you’ve convinced yourself are important. But you know we’re inevitable and you’re starting to gradually realize that _you_ are inevitable, so you’ll agree to go on a date with me week after next, on Friday, just because you know it’ll happen anyway so why not just go with it."

Rachel blinked at him, her eyes wide and her face the exact shade of a cherry slushie. Jesse was grinning, his blue eyes twinkling in the sunset, and he reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"Say yes," he told her quietly, still smiling confidently.

"Um—uh—" she stammered—for once rendered speechless—and glanced anywhere but at him. Finally, though, her eyes landed back on his, and she smiled. "Um…okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So...this is obviously not an update, it's really just me changing the notes to let people know what's going down with me. This same note is gonna be posted in the notes of every one of my WIPs, so if you're reading multiples, you just have to read on of them--it's exactly the same note.
> 
> So, I'm a fucking retard. Like, maybe the dumbest person on the planet. What's that saying? "The definition of insanity/ignorance is repeating the same actions and expecting a different outcome"? Basically, yeah. Either I'm stupid or insane, because that's what I keep doing.
> 
> Okay, here's the gist--I. Don't. Do. Technology. I don't. And technology doesn't really seem to want to cooperate with me, ever, either.
> 
> Basically, I took everything off of my phone--pictures, videos, documents, music, everything that wasn't an app pretty much--and put it on my computer. Not a big deal, I've done this several times when I'm working on renaming or organizing or whatever.
> 
> Except.
> 
> My mom got a NEW computer. That means we have three now (four if you count the desktop that nobody uses and that doesn't even work really). She says we're getting rid of the oldest laptop--which is the one I always use--because it sucks and they don't make updates for it anymore etcetera etcetera.
> 
> So my dumb ass is like, welp, gotta get my shit together, and I took everything I had on that computer--yes, everything, again--and put it on a SanDisk FlashDrive.
> 
> And NOW THE DAMN THING WON'T FUCKING OPEN. Everything is gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
> 
> Docs. Pics. 20,000 songs. Videos. Everything. My whole life--down the drain. I basically have to start over and I don't even know half the things I lost. I swear to every fucking god I can think of, if I have to answer for my screaming and crying one more time...
> 
> Anyway, yes, I'm a dumbass. I'm a crazy bitch. And I'm so, so, so, so, SO sorry for this shit. I know ya'll want to read this, but I don't have any of it anymore. It's gone. I have to start over. Honestly, half of my stories might not come back from this. I'll let you know. IDK what you wanna do, subscribe or bookmark or whatever you need to do to get updates, but it's gonna be a couple of months. If this had happened at the beginning of summer, maybe it would take less time. But I'm starting my first year of college, and updates were already gonna be slower even than my usual turtle-ness, so...
> 
> Anyway, I'm really, really, really sorry. Please don't hate me. I won't day it's not my fault, because it is, but I AM sorry that I'm disappointing everyone. Again.
> 
> Okay. Talk to y'all soon. I've got work to do.


End file.
